Between the Memory and the Moment
by UConn Fan
Summary: They were inevitable - weren't they? AU Post-"The Telling"; SV
1. Default Chapter

Title: Between the Memory and the Moment  
  
Author: UConn Fan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: They were inevitable, weren't they? AU Post-The Telling  
  
Authors Note: Read carefully.   
  
The first thing she'd remember was the noise. The sound of cars, of every day conversation, of the regular hustle and bustle of a big city. Sydney Bristow had traveled enough to recognize that she wasn't in America before she even opened her eyes. The illuminated neon lettering only confirmed her fears as she struggled to limp to a pay phone, an unfamiliar nausea and dizziness seeping in as she arrived at a public phone. Thankful for the trick Marshall had taught her years ago, only moments later she had a dial tone and was calling the number she knew by heart.  
  
"This is Vaughn," a groggy voice answered.   
  
The fear curled in her stomach as she leaned slightly against the glass of the phone booth, thankful to have found one in the age of cellular phones. Biting back her anxiety, taking comfort in the sound of his voice, she spoke. "It's me." Instead of a voice of joy or concern, the only sound that reached her ears was his breathing, and even that was nearly undetectable. "Hello?" she questioned, growing impatient.  
  
"Who is this?"  
  
"Vaughn?" Sydney's voice trembled, the space slowly growing smaller the longer the air lay dormant.  
  
The voice replied, this time impatient, "I asked who is this?"  
  
"Vaughn, it's me . . . Sydney . . "  
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
"Sydney Bristow."  
  
"Jack Bristow's daughter?"   
  
"Yes, damnit Vaughn!" she grew frustrated. "I just woke up in Hong Kong. I don't know how long I've been here or how I got here," she relayed far more calmly.  
  
"Get to the safe house at Tsimshatsui as quickly as possible. It's on -"  
  
"I remember where it is," she cut him off, annoyed with his uncharacteristic behavior.  
  
"I'll make sure they're expecting you."  
  
Her journey through the city was brief. Every vein throbbed with pain and every joint moved slowly, but with no money she had no other choice but to make the journey by foot. They greeted her there with the proper detachment, no words spoken as to give her any idea as to what happen. Instead her mind raced with what ifs as a man she could only assume was a CIA employee led her down a hallway. "Have they said . . " she started. Sydney cleared her throat and tried again, hoping for some answer. "Have they said anything about how I got here? Do you know any -"  
  
Finally the silence that had trailed her since she left the phone booth was broken. "You should wait for information until your contact arrives," he decided, his voice thoroughly detached. Then he unlocked the door to a room and nodded to her, disappearing as she entered.  
  
The wait seemed an eternity as her mind wandered over the possibilities. They were too endless to count. Sydney was well informed on how long a flight from Los Angeles to Hong Kong took, and her body still felt down trodden from the earlier debacle. Going on that alone, she had estimated that a handful of days had transpired since that horrible night, at the most. Yet as her fingertips worked expertly over her body, gently probing, she was unable to find the scars she knew should be there, she found no evidence to coincide with her timeline.  
  
Vaughn slowly reappeared as the door opened. A light stubble grew on his haggard, stricken face as he entered the room. For once she felt grateful to Kendall or whatever higher authority had allowed him come. That was the way it always was, she thought gratefully as she wrapped her arms around him. Slowly he responded as she allowed the tears to come. Now that he was here, they would figure it out and deal with it together. History had proven that if they did something together, it would inevitably all be okay.   
  
"They doubled Francie," she whispered, her voice stricken.  
  
"Sydney -"  
  
"What happened to Will? To Francie? Are they dead?"  
  
Unable to look at her, Vaughn pulled away. "You . . . Sit down," he commanded.   
  
Sydney's footsteps felt heavier than they had earlier as her heart progressively sunk. Obediently her tired body sank back down into her chair as he sat across from her, his green eyes trained anywhere but on her. "Vaughn?"  
  
"Everyone thought you were dead," he spoke in a hoarse voice to the floor. "They asked me to come to ... to explain..."  
  
"Why wouldn't they?" she asked, the panic rising in her lungs.  
  
Slowly he shook his head, the exhaustion evident on his features, his hands rubbing nervously over the fabric of his pants as he continued to study the floor. "How did you get the number?"   
  
"What are you talking about?" she demanded. "You gave it to me . . . You gave it to me, after you were assigned as my handler . . . " she explained as he briefly looked up at her. Instinctively Vaughn brought his left hand up to rub his face. The dim light bounced off the gold band on his left hand and directly to the core of her being. "Vaughn . . . Why are you wearing that ring?"  
  
"Sydney . . . Ms. Bristow . . . " he shook his head and finally met her eyes. "This is the first time we've ever met." 


	2. Chapter 1

Title: Between the Memory and the Moment  
  
Author: UConn Fan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: They were inevitable, weren't they? AU Post-The Telling  
  
"How long . . . " she stuttered, unbelieving that this man before her was not her Vaughn. This man barely knew her, knew only her name from her connection to the infamous Jack Bristow. To Sydney it was a small consolation that in any reality some things remained the same. "How long have I been . . ."   
  
Vaughn swallowed and met her eyes, unflinching, "dead?" he finished. Silently she nodded, bracing herself for the worse but hoping for the best. "Almost two years."   
  
"Two years?" she blinked away her tears, feeling her body tremble, her earlier aches and nausea long forgotten. "But . . . where have I been?"   
  
"I can't answer that," he shrugged with an appropriate amount of detached sympathy on his face. The expression you'd give a stranger, someone you passed on the street outside of a funeral home. Not the type of look she was used to receiving from Vaughn. "They're expecting us back in Los Angeles," he slowly stood as she sucked in a breath.   
  
"How long do I have?" she questioned, on her feet as only a short distance separated them.   
  
"Um . . . " Vaughn started and glanced down at his watch. Immediately Sydney lunged at him, fighting through the cobwebs in her mind where instincts had once lay, grabbing his shirt and jacket and backing him brutally against the safehouse wall.   
  
"I don't know who the hell you are, but you are *not* Michael Vaughn," she spat bitterly. "Who the hell are you -"   
  
"Ms. Bristow -" he struggled to speak.   
  
"Who are you!? Who sent you? Is it Sloane? Do you work for Sloane?" Sydney loudly demanded, flexing her elbow to press uncomfortably on his larynx.   
  
"Please, Ms. Bristow -"   
  
"What have you done with Michael Vaughn? Tell me you son of a bitch!"   
  
"Ms. Bristow, I'll show you my identification -"   
  
"A college student could forge a fake ID!" she spat. "Where is Vaughn? Tell me!"   
  
"Sydney!" he struggled to speak, blinking away the tears as he fought for breath. "Please -"   
  
"Why did Sloane send you? What do you want?!" she angrily demanded, shoving him closer to the wall as the door opened and the agents surveilling the room stormed in.   
  
The instincts were only soft shadows on her conscious as she found herself fighting a small handful of guards, the injured form of whatever Michael Vaughn clone they'd sent her way lay temporarily out of commission on the floor of the Hong Kong safehouse. She found herself attacking them with a sense of uncertainty that she wasn't used to, but she still managed to be successful. Moments later she sped down the safehouse hallways in search of an exit, her sprints half a step shorter than she was accustomed to. Only more guards awaited her outside the aged building, and she found herself battling them in the littered alleyway that she had stumbled upon. As the two guards lay on the ground, unconscious and her own body aching in spots she forgot existed, she felt a sharp sting to her left shoulder.   
  
Turning around she wasn't surprised to see Vaughn, his eyes shaking but his hands steady as he aimed the dart gun in her direction. Blinking back her tears, she took a wobbled step back, only to see Vaughn slowly walking towards her. His eyes were uncertain, and she felt her heart breaking. "Don't . . . " she pleaded, her voice unsteady and breaking even to her own ears. "Please . . . Don't . . . " Sydney cried as she felt her body slump to her knees as this man, this apparent stranger, stepped closer. "Vaughn . . . " she started to feel the tears, her body physically exhausted and drained from the dart he'd just injected into her system. "Just don't," she cried, feeling the tears start as he hesitantly took her into his arms, his embrace awkward and uncomfortable as she felt the tears and the tranquilizers wear away at her consciousness.   
  
She needed a shower, at least that's what Sydney thought when she woke up. The smell of hospital floor wax and saline solution mixed bitterly with her own personal perfume of dried sweat and travel grime. Whatever dreams she'd experienced in her unconscious state hadn't brought back any memories or nightmares, just a massive black hole. Yet another to add to this new life she had suddenly found, full of questions and uncertainties, including where she was and how she'd arrived there.   
  
Opening her eyes, the hospital room appeared to be like every other hospital room she'd ever been in. A television was on softly and had been propped up on the wall in front of her, a window with the long blinds drawn to the right of her along with a table with a phone. Off to the side of the room was a movable dinner tray, empty and a reminder of her sudden hunger. Slowly sitting up, she felt the IV line draw deeper into her skin, stinging as she rested, still exhausted against the well-fluffed pillows.   
  
"Hey, you're up," a friendly voice called as the hospital door swung open. Sydney could only smile as she looked up to see Eric Weiss smiling at the foot of her head.   
  
"Eric."   
  
"You remember me," he smiled, sliding a chair over to sit next to her bed. Only then, as she noticed the guarded and locked door that he'd entered through, did Sydney realize she was in a CIA hospital - no surprise, given the circumstances. "I offered to come sit with you. We only met a few times before you . . . disappeared, so I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me or even remember me, it's not like we were close -"   
  
"I remember you," she smiled. Even if she didn't remember him in this world, she remembered enough from the life she knew and took solace in this sudden friendly face. "Do you . . . " Sydney looked briefly around the room and back at him, her smile having faded. "Do you know where my father is? What is he doing? Is he okay?" she questioned. Quietly she added the last question, her brown eyes not quite meeting Weiss as she asked, "Where's Vaughn?"   
  
"Yeah . . . Mike told me that you have some memory loss . . . some confusion . . . " he trailed off as she nodded. "It's okay Sydney, it happens. I'm sure you'll remember most of it with time."   
  
"I hope," she softly spoke, briefly looking back out the window. Then she looked back at him, "So where's my father?"   
  
Weiss sighed and sat back in his chair, "Jack left the agency after your death. I think they're still trying to get a hold of him . . . You know your father Sydney, he's never an easy man," he chuckled.   
  
"Tell me about it," she smiled, brushing hair off of her face. Again her grin disappeared, her tone heartbreakingly low and lost as she looked back at him. "That was really Vaughn in Hong Kong, wasn't it?"   
  
"Yes, it was," Eric confirmed with a slight nod of his head. "Do you remember, at all, how you got Agent Vaughn's phone number?"   
  
"I . . . I don't know," she lied with a slight shrug. "Is . . . Is he okay? I didn't mean to hurt him . . . "   
  
"He's fine. A little banged up. Pretty impressive moves by the way. I remember you told me that you used to coach the girl's track team at the high school but I don't think you ever mentioned that you knew kickboxing and self defense," he commented.   
  
Silently Sydney tucked away the casual tidbit of information that he'd dropped, mentioning it as though she knew every detail of her life when in fact everything was a mystery. Instead she shrugged, "I guess it was just instinct."   
  
"Impressive instinct," he chuckled. "If you do decide to join the agency, I'd expect them to offer you a field grade. You stood out when we started your field training, but nothing like what you did in Hong Kong."   
  
Again all she could do was quietly smile and nod. "Thank you for sitting with me Eric . . . But do you think I could take a shower?"   
  
"I don't see why not," he answered. "Let me check with your doctors, I'm sure they'll want to talk to you now that you're up."   
  
"Sure," she smiled, grateful for the support, her mind swarming with questions that Weiss - and perhaps no one else - could answer. She was aware that she had to tread cautiously, pick up what she could about this new existence to ensure that she wasn't tossed aside as another sociopath. Sydney had suffered through an unfortunate stay at an insane asylum and had no intentions of being shoved in one again, especially when she was certain of her own sanity.   
  
"Ms. Bristow, I'm glad to see your awake," a male voice chimed in. Sydney looked up and forced a smile as a middle-aged, graying doctor walked in with Weiss trailing a few steps behind. "Your vitals look stable," he noted as he studied the machines that surrounded her before finally meeting her eyes. "How are you feeling?"   
  
"I'm okay," she let it easily slip, every inch of her body on edge as it struggled not to react to such a blatant lie.   
  
"Agent Weiss says you'd like a shower."   
  
"Yes, I would," she agreed.   
  
The doctor nodded, looking over her chart. "I don't see why not. I'll bring a nurse in here to take out the IV, although we'll leave the heplock in until we discharge you."   
  
"How long will that be?" Sydney demanded as the doctor started back towards the door.   
  
The doctor paused to briefly look at Weiss before he turned fully back to his patient. "I'd like to keep you here overnight to observe you, and if all goes well, we can send you home in someone's care . . . It's my understanding that they're still trying to get a hold of your family."   
  
"The agency is trying," Weiss confirmed.   
  
"I don't want to discharge you until tomorrow Ms. Bristow, and I would be more comfortable if you had a back-up plan to stay with someone else."   
  
"I don't think I have much of a choice," she said, her smile small and ironic. "I don't think I have a place of my own anymore."   
  
"I'm sure the CIA can make accommodations for you if someone isn't found," Weiss suggested.   
  
"Good," the doctor agreed. "I'll go speak to your nurse Ms. Bristow."   
  
"Thank you," she called weakly as the doctor disappeared out her door.   
  
"Great bedside manner, huh?" Weiss teased.   
  
"Yeah," she smiled softly, looking down at her hands. "Something like that."   
  
"Listen, Sydney," he started out cautiously, settling back into his chair at her bedside. "I know you must have a ton of questions . . . This can't be easy for you. So I just wanted you to know that whatever you need, whatever questions you need answered . . . I'll answer them for you. Anything, just ask," he assured her.   
  
There were millions of questions, and none of them seemed sufficient enough to be the first answered. Finally, she looked over at him, a rare expression of solemnity on his face as he braced himself for whatever Sydney Bristow threw his way. "What day is it?"   
  
"October 2nd."   
  
"October 2nd," she repeated softly as the emotions ran across her face. The math was obvious. Calculating the time a flight would take from Hong Kong and the time difference, it was obvious that in this world she had once again met Michael Vaughn on October 1st. "October 2nd, 2005 . . . " she tried, the unfamiliar year bitter on her tongue. Two years lost, two years unaccounted for, too much to process in such a short time.   
  
"Does that have some sort of meaning for you?"   
  
"No, no," Sydney quickly dismissed. "I just . . . I can't believe two years has gone by and I can't remember anything," she answered, hating having to lie to anyone. Weiss was on her side, and while she knew she couldn't tell him everything, she desperately wanted to be able to be truthful with him and with everyone. "How do you just lose two years?" she softly asked, blinking away the moisture in her eyes as she sympathetically looked at her sole friend.   
  
"I wish I knew Sydney," he sighed, his body deflated against the hospital chair as a nurse entered the room.   
  
"You're awake," the smiling nurse greeted.   
  
"Hi," Sydney forced a smile, quickly wiping away her tears.   
  
Leaning forward, Weiss' brow scrunched as he spoke, "what the hell is that?" he questioned, gesturing to the roll of what appeared to be saran wrap in the nurse's hands.   
  
"The doctor signed an order for Ms. Bristow to have a shower," she explained. "This may hurt a bit," she softly added in Sydney's direction as she swiftly removed the IV, leaving only the heplock. "In order for Ms. Bristow to take a shower, we need to protect the heplock to ensure that she doesn't pick up an infection or an air bubble," she informed them. "Agent Weiss, perhaps you can attempt to get a hold of Ms. Bristow's family?" she suggested.   
  
"I'll take that as my cue to leave," Weiss chuckled, standing and looking at Sydney. "I'll be back in a little while."   
  
"Thank you Eric," she softly called as he left the room.   
  
"When you get out of the shower, we'll remove this, of course," the nurse politely smiled, gesturing to the saran wrap that she had wrapped around Sydney's arm. "I'd allow you to get into some of your own clothes when you get out of the shower . . . but it doesn't look like that's possible."   
  
"It's not," she sighed, wondering just what happened to her belongings. Or better yet, what had happened to her for them to all believe she was dead.   
  
"I'll get you a fresh johnny coat though," the nurse assured her. "If you need anything in the shower or at any time, my name is Lee. Just press the call button and you'll get the nursing station."   
  
"Thank you Lee," she smiled as the shorter nurse slowly helped her to her feet.   
  
"The agent who met with you in Hong Kong reported that you appeared to be limping, but we performed various tests and we were unable to find any fractures or breaks," Lee explained. To Sydney it was only a small comfort as her body continued to ache with each small movement. "Hospital beds aren't always very comfortable though, are they?" she joked as her patient smiled gratefully. "Would you like something to eat? I can have them send you a tray. We'd like you to start eating, unless you're feeling ill -"   
  
"That would be fine," Sydney promised as she slowly approached the bathroom. "Thank you Lee."   
  
"Be careful Sydney, and if you need anything, you'll find a call button by the light switch," she explained.   
  
Quietly Sydney thanked her, shutting the heavy bathroom door behind her. For a moment she allowed herself to stand in the dark room before she flicked on the switch, her eyes instinctively closing at the harsh fluorescent glow. When she opened her eyes, she reached around to untie her hospital gown and slowly peeled it away from her body. Unable to stop the thought that she felt unfamiliar in her own body, she reached down to remove the small white socks from her feet, she pulled to her full height and finally examined her body from the first time since her return.   
  
There were no scars, no bruises, apparently not a single blemish that hadn't been caused by nature or genetics. Not a clue to who she was or more importantly where she'd been. Any marks from childhood had long since healed, and her body showed no evidence to support the life she remembered leading. Sydney felt every inch of her body and soul simmering in an agonizing juice of pain. Taking a thin white towel, she placed it close to the shower stall and turned on the water, testing to make sure it was hot enough to nearly burn her skin, before she stepped inside.   
  
Alone, with only the green-tiled walls to keep her company, her conscious mind couldn't help but turn back to the one presence she'd needed most in the hospital room. The one person she apparently didn't know. None of that made sense, none of it seemed possible, yet judging by the expression on his face, a look of detached horror and mixed pain, perhaps even pity, it was true.   
  
Vaughn.   
  
Exhausted, she leaned heavily against the cold tile, only half focused on her attempt to wash herself with the hospital issue soap. Instead her memory assaulted her mind, her heart and her senses with everything that had built the couple they had been. Everything that she'd held closest to who she was, and the one thing she'd never thought she'd lose.   
  
Bozo hair . . . Joey's Pizza . . . piers . . . guardian angels . . . hockey . . . Kings . . . picture frames . . . Vatican . . . train stations . . . grasshoppers . . . dead watches . . . mini golf . . . Nice . . . drawers . . . Santa Barbara . . .   
  
So in love . . . so in love . . . so in love . . . *soinlove* . . .   
  
Now . . .   
  
Nothing . . .   
  
*Nothing*.   
  
Somewhere along the way the water trailing down her face began to originate at her eyes, increasing with each passing moment. The ring on his finger had been obvious proof that he was no longer hers, only adding to the pain of knowing that in this universe he'd never been hers to begin with. How it all could just disappear so quickly, how two years of pain and love and suffering and triumph could vanish in the blink of an eye, left her numb. Michael Vaughn had no obligation to her, no emotional or even professional ties to her, except perhaps to have heard her name in passing through the halls of the CIA building. Now when she needed him most she had no claim, past or present, on him at all.   
  
The water grew cold before she finally slipped it off, doing her best to strangle the sobs as the sound of the pounding water died. Sydney pulled back the curtain and grabbed the thin cotton, doing her best to dry herself. When she left the small sanctuary of the shower, she noticed the hospital gown and socks that were folded neatly on the top of the toilet seat. No matter how grateful she was to Lee for her help, Sydney could only hope the nurse hadn't heard her tears.   
  
She took her time to change, continuing her study of her body and face. For some reason she was surprised that she didn't look older. Instead the face that greeted her in the mirror was identical to the face she had seen in her most recent memories, memories of moving around her tiny bathroom with Vaughn as they prepared for the day. There weren't any extra wrinkles or lines, nothing to show the passage of time that her body had apparently undergone without her. With a heavy sigh, Sydney watched her shoulders slump briefly as she brushed her hair back into a ponytail and made sure that her gown was tied correctly before she reentered her room.   
  
Again she was alone, with the exception of the guard that seemed on constant post outside of her room. During her shower, Lee had lived up to her word and a warm tray of food rested on the movable dinner tray. Sydney took her time eating her meal in peace and turned on the news, picking up what she could. To her surprise the recall of Gray Davis had succeeded and Schwarzenegger was now governor of California. The Lakers were preparing to defend their World Championship from the previous season while all southern California baseball teams had been eliminated from any hope of a postseason. In the time she'd disappeared Bush had been re-elected president, the country was still in a desperate hunt for the terrorists and terror cells, despite the late 2003 capture of Saddam Hussein, and Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck had managed to marry briefly, divorce, and were currently planning their second wedding.   
  
Sydney wasn't sure of how long she'd been alone, but she was nearly asleep when the door finally opened and Eric Weiss reentered. An orderly had briefly joined her, drawing blood and taking her tray back to the cafeteria, but that was it. The light that had once snuck in from under the hospital blinds had completely disappeared and she had nearly been successful in shutting off all the painful questions her mind posed while she nearly won her battle to capture some sleep.   
  
"How are you feeling?" Weiss softly smiled, sitting down in his chair as she opened her eyes and sat up slightly in the bed.   
  
"Okay," she lied. "My father?" she croaked wearily.   
  
"No luck," he smiled sympathetically. "We've decided that we're just going to take you to him tomorrow. Enough of this trying to get him on the phone crap," he encouraged.   
  
"They're letting me go home?"   
  
"Tomorrow. Safehouse, although I'm currently trying to get clearance for you to stay with me," he explained. Hastily, his face beginning to burn, he added, "I have an extra room, and it's not much, but it's something. I figured it might be better than a safehouse . . . Hell, trust me, I've had to guard those places, it *is* better than a safehouse," he vowed. "Plus I know there are plenty of open apartments in my complex, so it might be a place to start," Weiss gently explained.   
  
"Thank you."   
  
"Hey, just doing my job," he reminded her.   
  
Sydney allowed him a small smile and looked away. Finally she turned towards him and questioned, "clothes?"   
  
"Your clothing sizes were on file in what the CIA saved of your orientation dossier. My best friend's wife is taking care of it now. You should have some things to wear by the time they discharge you," he explained. Her eyes closed at the mention of his best friend's wife, all but certain he meant Mrs. Michael Vaughn but praying that somehow he didn't. "The nurse said you ate well. That's good."   
  
"If they call that food," she croaked as he chuckled. Growing somber, Sydney met Eric's eyes, "What's going on with my father? I know you said he left the agency . . . why?"   
  
"After your . . . death," he struggled with the word. "Jack blamed himself . . . No matter what we uncovered, no matter what anyone else told him . . . remaining with the agency was too difficult. Jack was always intense at work . . . But after everything that happened, it was becoming too personal . . . He had to leave."   
  
"Where is he now?"   
  
"I don't know," Eric shrugged. "I heard that he was offered various positions in the private sector. We didn't exactly keep in contact after he left . . . so I'm just not sure. Devlin is trying to get a hold of some information, and he said he'd get it back to me before tomorrow."   
  
The door of the hospital room opened, bringing in with it the bright lights from the hallways as Lee stood apologetically in the doorway. "Agent Weiss, I'm afraid visiting hours are ending."   
  
"Of course, I was just about to tell her about all the hot girls that have been throwing themselves at me since she left," Eric cracked as Sydney laughed, briefly feeling her spirits lift for the first time since her disappearance. The man stood and squeezed her hand. "I'll be back bright and early in the morning to get you out of here."   
  
"Thank you Eric."   
  
"Don't thank me Sydney. It's not a problem," he smiled at her. Leaning in to lightly touch her cheek with a kiss, he whispered near her ear, "I think Lee's got a thing for me anyway," he teased. As he pulled back, Sydney laughed and collapsed against the hospital pillows, watching him leave for the night.   
  
For a woman who remembered herself as a nearly legendary CIA operative, Sydney was disappointed that she hadn't deduced their destination before Weiss arrived the next morning to begin their search for her father. After his tenure with the CIA and his abrupt departure, Jack Bristow hadn't left for a high paying job in the private sector, but instead had entered academia. Currently he was in his first full year as a professor of aerospace engineering at UCLA. Somehow, given the twisted memories that she had, it only seemed fitting.   
  
Sydney was still haunted by a million questions as she changed into the clothes that Eric had bought her and thanked Lee and the hospital staff. The jeans and shirt were comfortable, leaving her to assume that she had at least that to be grateful to Mrs. Michael Vaughn. In the end, her heart couldn't help but concede that if his wife made Vaughn happy, Sydney couldn't help but be grateful to her for that as well.   
  
Despite her questions, she was quiet as her friend drove her to the familiar campus. Sydney wondered if he'd accepted tenure at the prestigious university to feel closer to her or perhaps closer to memories of happier days, back when they all believed that Laura Bristow was an English professor there. Weiss did his best to fill her in on a variety of humorous anecdotes, some from the time she was missing and others from the time before they ever met. Even with her lack of inquiries, she was a careful listener, doing her best to try to pick up on whatever clues he'd unconsciously drop her. So far there'd been nothing, but he had made her laugh, something she was eternally grateful.   
  
The government-issue sedan finally died down in front of the building where Jack Bristow's morning class was being held. According to the schedule that Devlin had given to Eric and he'd then passed on to her, Jack's class would be ending within minutes. Sydney thanked Eric for the ride as he reminded her to call him when she was done, going to go obtain some breakfast and allow her some time to be with her father. After believing your only child was dead for two years, Eric reasoned the least he could do was offer them some privacy.   
  
Even after all of her years at UCLA, the building was unfamiliar to her. Instead she followed the signs and Eric's recent directions as she approached an open door and students slowly trickling out. Jack's class had not been taught in a massive lecture hall but one of the smaller classrooms on campus, a class suited to fit perhaps forty, a group of students who were currently moving past her. Sydney stepped into the room, standing in the back for a moment and silently observing her father. Jack moved about the front of the room, erasing the notes he'd made on the blackboard in his nearly illegible hand. Turning around, dressed in an outfit that reminded her of what he wore when they rescued Will from Taipei, he froze as his eyes landed on her in the otherwise empty classroom.   
  
"Sydney," he softly said, his surprise so heavy that he was unable to hide it behind even his best poker face.   
  
She did her best to smile through her tears, taking a few small steps towards the front of the classroom. "The CIA's been trying to get a hold of you . . . They left messages . . . "   
  
"Yes . . . Well, we've been out of town. We just returned to Los Angeles this morning."   
  
Silently she nodded, taking another few steps closer. "Everyone . . . they told me they thought I was dead, that everyone thought I was dead . . . No one's telling me anything though Dad. I don't know how they all thought I was dead or how I supposedly died . . . What happened to Will and Francie? Do you know where they are? The only person I've really seen is Eric Weiss and he barely knows more than I do -"   
  
"Sydney," Jack spoke softly, placing his hands on her upper arm. "You must calm down," he commanded, the current of his voice gentle in a way that was foreign to any ear but his daughter's. "Sit down," he gestured for her to take a seat next to his desk as he took one as well. "Start from the beginning."   
  
"I woke up in Hong Kong . . . everything I remember . . . everything I remember doesn't make any sense Dad . . . No one will tell me anything! I don't know who to call or what to expect . . . Please dad, what happened to me?"   
  
"We did believe you were dead . . . I didn't want to believe it at first . . . At the time I didn't," he confessed softly, briefly looking away. Finally he turned back to her in his normal tone as he continued. "There wasn't a body Sydney. There were the skidmarks on the bridge . . . They pulled the car from the water and given the water temperature and the conditions that night . . . We were told just to assume that you tried to swim to shore and failed."   
  
"Swim to shore?" she sniffled as her eyes widened. "That's how mom died . . . "   
  
"Sydney?" Jack spoke.   
  
"Dad, how could you believe . . . Everything dad, the skidmarks . . . the car from the water . . . That's how mom died. You had to have known dad . . . That's how mom staged her death -"   
  
"Sydney, your not making any sense," he stopped her, clearly agitated and concerned.   
  
"Yes I am!" she protested. "I *am* making sense dad! Sloane and Sark must be behind this . . . " she estimated, mostly to herself. As her mind raced she brought her hand up to her forehead, her eyes briefly shutting as she struggled to remember anything at all. "This doesn't make any sense," she murmured.   
  
"Jack?"   
  
Sydney felt her heart stop. Opening her eyes, she watched as her father stood and she slowly did the same, fully prepared and at the same time emotionally raw as she turned around. The sight was one that she could remember only from the earliest days of childhood. Everything, from the style of the outfit to the way her hair was kept, was reminiscent of the photographs and scattered memories that Sydney had held so dear. There was nothing dark, sharp or even suspicious about the woman before her.   
  
"Laura," Jack softly responded.   
  
Desperately sucking in the classroom air, Sydney released the only conscious thought she had at the moment, "Mom." 


	3. Chapter 2

Title: Between the Memory and the Moment  
  
Author: UConn Fan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: They were inevitable, weren't they? AU Post-The Telling  
  
Dedication: To everyone who's already read this at SD-1 - hopefully chapter four will be posted here & there soon!   
  
There was a house in a comfortable suburb of Los Angeles, a house that Sydney couldn't recall seeing since she was eighteen and left for UCLA. On a bookcase in the family room of that home was a shelf she knew well. In her memories she remembered spending endless days at home alone with the nanny, sneaking away to look at her mother's cherished books while her caretaker searched for where the precocious child had disappeared. She had treasured looking at those books, and for years had been terrified to touch them. When her father had sent them to her after graduation, she'd been thrilled to receive them, surprised that such an apparently detached man would remember something so sentimental.  
  
In her mind's eye, she could still see those same books tear apart her world. Francie's carelessness, a tipped over glass of lemonade, led to bitter revelations - codes she recognized to be from the KGB. For a brief time Sydney had been certain that the codes would prove that her father had not only been working for the Russians, but had killed William Vaughn. Instead they'd torn apart her life in another way, opening the door for a myriad of self-doubts that Sydney had yet to fully recover from.  
  
Except now those codes were gone. The books remained, the house nearly unchanged, except for a few new pieces of furniture here and there. Alone for the first time since her arrival, Sydney had done nearly everything but spill her glass of iced tea onto the aged text to insure that the books were in fact legitimate. The collection had grown since what she recalled, something that could be accounted for by the extra years of book buying that this Jack Bristow had.   
  
"You've loved those books since you were a little girl," a soft voice fondly recalled. Sydney turned around and met her mother's eyes, still uncertain of the words necessary for such moments. The comfort of this house, the relationship the family that inhabited it shared, was foreign to her.   
  
"I remember," she answered honestly. Laura smiled softly, her eyes still in awe of the young woman in front of her. Jack had struggled to explain everything in the car, his wife listening with a quiet, analytical approach, one similar to the mother she remembered as a child. After a short drive from the UCLA campus, they'd arrived there, to the home that had been hers in childhood, complete with the tree she used to climb on and the flowerbeds that had died shortly after Laura did.  
  
"Please Sydney, sit," Laura gently implored, taking a seat across from her daughter in the comfortable living room. For a moment, the older woman studied her daughter, remembering the tiny lines and freckles that she had memorized since Sydney's birth. As the silence grew in length, she sat back briefly and smiled, "I'm sorry Sydney. We tried not to give up hope . . . Two years is a long time though."  
  
"I know mom," Sydney nodded and looked down at her glass.   
  
"Your father's on the phone with Ben. He was just telling us how they found you . . . or actually, how you found them," she explained as her daughter's eyes met hers. "None of it seems to make sense, does it?"  
  
"No," she sighed. "None of it makes sense at all," she agreed, feeling the weight of her own words more than the woman across from her knew.   
  
"You met Agent Vaughn once," Laura recalled as the younger woman's quickly snapped through a well-hidden shock. "Of course, this was back when he was still Michael Vaughn . . . Years before he likely even considered becoming an agent," she fondly remembered. "You were just a baby Sydney . . . perhaps two at the most, and I believe Michael was seven or eight . . . His father worked with yours . . . Most little boys don't like girls, nevermind toddlers, but when he thought no one else was looking . . . He was very doting, it was quite sweet," she smiled briefly. "The two of you only met a handful of times, and it was years ago. I couldn't help but think of him when Ben told your father that Agent Vaughn was the man you called."   
  
"I don't remember how I got his number," she lied effortlessly before her mother could even pose the obvious question.  
  
"Yes," Laura patiently nodded, "I know."  
  
Sydney glanced down at her glass, feeling the sincerity slip into her heart as she spoke, "I wish I remembered."  
  
"You will," her mother urged. "It's just going to take time Sydney," she determined with a tone eerily similar to the Irina Derevko in Sydney's mind. "It will take time . . . But I think it's best of you begin to assimilate," she explained. "You've only been back a day sweetheart, and there's so much you've missed . . . So much you must be curious about. Your father and I discussed it, and we thought it might be easier if you had more people from your life before around you . . . "   
  
"And?" she prodded with a less than calm edge to her voice.  
  
"I called your friends, Will and Francie . . . Obviously, you have more friends than that, but we thought it would be best to start with the people closest to you."  
  
"Will and Francie?" Sydney spoke, blinking away her tears.  
  
"Yes, Sweetheart, are you alright?" Laura leaned over, resting her hand on her daughter's arm as she took a moment to compose herself.  
  
"Will and Francie . . . They're alright?"  
  
"I believe so. . . Sydney, if it's too much, I'll cancel -"  
  
"No!" she quickly stopped her mother's train of thought. "No. Don't do that," she calmly added, wiping away her tears. "Did you . . . Did you tell them what happened?"  
  
"Not yet. I didn't know how to explain over the phone . . . They should be here in a little while. We haven't seen them in quite some time, so I know they must wonder why we called them so suddenly," she explained. As the silence dripped into unnaturally long lengths, she softly broke it, "Sydney?"  
  
Raising her eyes, she met her mother's confusion. Quietly she confessed, "I just wish I remembered something . . . Who did this to me . . . Or why . . . " she admitted, although her mind had already formed it's own conclusion. Something about this inevitably led back to Arvin Sloane, an avenue of possibility she'd have to investigate on her own, at least until she knew more about the people who now surrounded her.  
  
"Sydney, have you considered the possibility that no one else was involved?" Laura gently suggested as her daughter's eyes flashed. "The accident . . . We were nearly certain you were dead sweetheart," she struggled to explain. "Perhaps . . . Perhaps you had amnesia, or entered a fugue state . . . I haven't done much reading into it, but it is a possibility."   
  
"Maybe," she sighed, her heart unable to wrap around the all too simple theory that it was amnesia. The differences in her life were too radical, the memories she knew were too painful to have been fabricated by her mind, for it to be a common case of amnesia or a less common fugue.  
  
"Dinner should be ready soon," Jack announced as he walked into the room, taking a moment to study the simple sight of his daughter and wife in the same room again. The past twenty-two and a half months had been agony, believing that their daughter was dead, with little or no evidence to support otherwise. Then to have her suddenly arrive out of the blue, seemingly without a scar on her body, left him pondering the possibility of miracles. Cautiously he sat down on the sofa and looked over at his daughter, the pain and questions etched on every inch of her still flawless face. "How are you feeling Sydney?"  
  
"What did Director Devlin say?" Sydney asked. For a moment a silent question passed between the married couple before Laura stood.  
  
"I'm going to go set the table," she explained, dropping a gentle kiss on her daughter's head as she seemed to glide effortlessly out of the room.   
  
"When you're ready, the CIA would like you to come speak to them. There are some . . . techniques that can be used to help recover lost memories. They'd like you to try hypno regression therapy . . . But given the apparent magnitude of all you've forgotten, there is a legitimate possibility it will not work. The only alternatives after that are . . . rather invasive and dangerous. Right now our best course of action is to hope that regression therapy works but to pursue less evasive alternatives for the possibility that it doesn't."  
  
"When can I start?"  
  
"Sydney -" Jack started, the disapproval wrapped up clearly in the two syllables she allowed him to release.  
  
"No dad. The only real chance I have of finding out what happened to me, where I've been . . . Why this happened to me, is with the CIA," she adamantly spoke. "Mom suggested that I had amnesia, that it was all a fugue state, that no one else was involved, but you can't possibly believe that dad. You wouldn't have left the agency if you had."  
  
"Your mother has her own way of coping with what happened . . . We all do," he explained.  
  
Sydney began to speak rapidly, leaning in slightly towards her father as her voice lowered an octave, "Then let me finish my orientation dad. Whatever the CIA needs me to do so I can figure out what happened to me."  
  
"Concluding your orientation is just a mere formality Sydney," Jack told her, leaving her to momentarily wonder just how close to beginning the agency she'd apparently been. "What concerns me is that the CIA had leads immediately after your death that perhaps a newly formed terrorist organization was involved for reasons I cannot even begin to explain to you -"  
  
"Rambaldi," Sydney effortlessly connected the dots. For a world in such desperate ruins at the hands of terrorists and psychopaths, she found that massive intelligence agencies spent an alarming amount of time on an insane prophet and architect from the sixteenth century.  
  
"How did you know about him?"  
  
"Dad, I need to start at the agency. The leads . . . It's been two years, there might a chance that not all of them are dead . . . "  
  
"You are a wonderful teacher Sydney," Jack insisted, the first person to confirm any suspicions she'd had regarding her occupation. "I'm certain once you go back to the school, visit with your students -"  
  
"I need to know what happened to me dad. I need to know what happened to me, who kept me from my life for two years . . . I need to know *why*."  
  
"Sydney, while your persistence is admirable, and while I have no doubt that you'd be an exceptional asset to the CIA, there is little doubt in my mind that an *international terrorist organization* has already stepped in and participated in you losing two years of your life. Tell me Sydney, what part of *not* joining the CIA *doesn't* appeal rational to you?"   
  
"I think I might have lost my ability to rationalize around the same time I lost two years!" she harshly pointed out.   
  
"I understand this is difficult for you Sydney, it's difficult for all of us, but we *must* proceed rationally and with caution. Your decision to enter the agency would be foolish at best and deadly at worst."  
  
"But it's my decision!" she reminded him. "Rational or not, it's my decision to work with the agency," she pressed on, her ears hardly believing that she sat there fighting for a job that she spent years trying to escape. Yet she still sat there, engaged in a heated battle of wills with her father, fighting for her spot with the agency, for no other reason then she had nothing else left.   
  
"This discussion is closed," Jack sat back, the mask of indifference slipping effortlessly into place. "Right now your primary concern, your *only* concern, is getting readjusted with your life."  
  
Before Sydney could strategize a more fruitful protest, the doorbell rang and her mother slipped back into the room. "I think your friends are here," she smiled as her daughter and husband stood. The two remaining Bristow's silently regarded one another as Sydney listened carefully, hearing her mother open the front door and the long awaited sound of Francie and Will's confused voices - a sound she never thought she'd hear again.  
  
"I know it's out of the blue, but I thought dinner would be a nice idea. Besides, there's someone here I want you to see," Laura explained, her voice carrying into the room as Sydney heard her friend's laugh.  
  
"Oh no. I'm sorry Mrs. Bristow, but I'm not letting you set me up again. The last time was disastrous!" Will protested as she heard Francie laugh.  
  
"Why would I want to set you up William? I'm no longer as young as I used to be, but do you think I didn't notice you holding Francie's hand until I opened the door?" Laura easily teased, leading them towards the living room.  
  
Will and Francie's laughter immediately stopped, Will's steps ending so abruptly that Francie collided into him. Sydney slowly smiled, fighting back her tears as images of the last time she recalled seeing them - Will half dead in the tub and Francie's body being controlled by Allison Doren - and watched the reaction play out over their faces. "Syd?" Will croaked.  
  
Francie's eyes turned to Laura, "How?"  
  
"I don't know," Sydney answered before anyone else could, cautiously taking a step towards them. "I don't know . . . I just woke up in Hong Kong. I don't remember anything," she began to concede. Before she could consider how to explain any further, they were by her side, each hugging her so fiercely she wasn't certain she could breathe.   
  
"We thought you were dead," Francie confessed as Sydney felt her friend's tears drip down onto her own skin.  
  
"I know . . . I'm so sorry."   
  
"How?" Will asked, pulling back to examine her. "You look . . ."  
  
"You look fine," Francie finished.  
  
"Physically . . . Physically I am fine," she assured them. That much was true, she reassured herself as she took a moment to hug each of them individually.   
  
"We missed you," Will promised, each holding one of her hands.   
  
"I wish I could say I missed you . . . But I just don't remember," she explained, feeling her tears pool with a new fury.  
  
"Hey, it's okay, what matters is you're back," Francie softly soothed her. "It's okay Syd. You're home now, that's all that matters. You're home and safe," she sighed in relief. Sydney pulled back and smiled at her friend, more grateful than ever for her soothing presence but unable to stop worrying about how safe she truly was.  
  
"How are you? What have I missed?" Sydney asked, smiling honestly as she took in the two of them.   
  
"We have plenty of time for that," Laura explained. "Dinner is almost ready, so go sit down," she urged as her daughter nodded and led her friends to the dining room.  
  
"Your father hasn't said much," Will mumbled as the three took their seats.  
  
"Will," Francie softly warned.   
  
Sydney chuckled and looked up at them, her heart still swelling with the mere sight of them, healthy and safe. "Does he ever say much?" she pointed out before she took a sip of her wine and continued. "I'm so happy you two are here. Everything is a mess right now," she explained, her thoughts briefly clouded with images of Vaughn and his wedding band. "The two of you are my best friends though . . . my oldest friends in the entire world. I'm so glad you're here."  
  
"Hey," Will reached out to take her hand again, gently squeezing it. "We're here Syd. Whatever you need."  
  
"Thank you," she smiled at them, feeling a tinge of relief that she had their support. At least in this world, a world without Vaughn and without the job that had seemingly been her life for so long, she had them. Somewhere along the way she decided it must be an even trade and perhaps she even got the better end of the deal. "Now what about you two? I overheard my mother say something about the two of you holding hands?" she teased.  
  
Francie and Will both looked away, a reaction similar to their confession at the restaurant what felt like a lifetime ago. "We didn't plan it Syd . . . " Will started, his skin quickly burning red.   
  
"We were celebrating the restaurant's second year, once I'd realized that we'd actually made an even bigger profit than we'd anticipated . . . Will was trying to convince me to let him go to his editor about doing a piece on the restaurant -"  
  
"Hey, I was just trying to help a friend get some free publicity!" he insisted as both women laughed.  
  
"I just wasn't comfortable with using your connections to further my business!" Francie insisted. Only a moment later she looked at her best and longest friend and sobered, "It was probably a year and a half after we thought we'd lost you . . . We'd spent most of our time together, obviously, since we always did . . . Syd, I swear, we never forgot about you and some times it was so hard not to have you around -" Francie struggled to explain, the tears becoming noticeable in her eyes.  
  
"I know," Sydney reached over for her hand. "I know. I know you didn't forget about me . . . But I am so happy for you."   
  
"This is so weird," Will muttered as they all laughed.  
  
"I think it's wonderful," she sincerely commented. "I think it might even be the best news I've heard since I got back," she added with a smile. "The restaurant's doing well . . . You two are together . . . The newspaper?" she turned to Will, silently relieved that he still worked as a reporter, although she was uncertain of all the consequences that entailed.  
  
"It's going okay," he shrugged. "I mean, after that whole Jenny fiasco, the big joke is that I don't get another assistant until I'm married or dead, whatever happens first," he humorously added. "I've covered some interesting things . . . "  
  
"And he still has a terrible 'His Girl Friday' complex," Francie added.  
  
"No! Still?" Sydney laughed as her best friends nodded. She took a moment to collect herself, allowing for another languid sip of wine, enjoying the opportunity to just look at them, healthy and glowing.   
  
"Have you seen a doctor?" Will asked softly as the mood of the room shifted.   
  
"Yes," she replied, setting her glass carefully down. "I spent an overnight at the hospital. I'm fine," she emphasized, seeing the concern on their faces.   
  
"Physically, medically . . . I'm not sick, I don't have any scars or bruises . . . "  
  
"That's good, isn't it?" Francie inquired.  
  
"Yeah, it's great that no one did anything to Syd, but it sucks that there's nothing to help figure out where she's been," Will reasoned.  
  
"I have no idea where I've been . . . or how I survived . . . " she softly added, unsure of how she survived the fate she remembered or the fate that they had pushed upon her.   
  
"I don't care you've been," Francie insisted. "All I care about is that your back."  
  
"But it doesn't make any sense -" Will pushed.  
  
"Who cares?" his girlfriend snapped at him. "Who cares? I'd rather be confused and be sitting here talking to Sydney!"  
  
"Guys -" Sydney started as Francie turned towards her.  
  
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry Sydney . . . I didn't mean to get upset -"  
  
"I didn't mean to start something either," Will hastily agreed. "Just . . . I've never known anyone to come back from the dead before."   
  
"You've missed so much." Francie gently squeezed her hand. "I don't know how you feel Sydney, but we're going to do everything we can to help you."  
  
"Nothing . . . Nothing really makes sense to me right now," Sydney confessed. At that moment she wished more than anything that there was something to tell, someone to share just how confused she was and how lost she felt, but she was entirely alone. "Just be my friends, like you've always been . . . Just be my best friends."  
  
The pair nodded from their seats across from her as Laura and Jack reappeared with the evening's meal. To her amazement, the five managed to make conversation over meatloaf and mashed potatoes made from scratch, a favorite from her childhood that her mother felt was appropriate to make. Even as they carried conversation, it was obvious to her that they stuck to topics she could participate in or easily understand, such as how the restaurant was doing or what classic piece of literature Laura's classes were currently studying.   
  
Francie and Will left in the evening, making sure to give her all their numbers and promised to be available whenever she needed someone to talk to, no matter what time. Sydney stood at the door to her childhood home, hugging them tightly and then waiting until their car was out of sight. Afterwards she'd excused herself for the night, no longer interested in what her parents would understandably want to discuss. Her mind was already made up - she would do whatever was necessary to return to the CIA and uncover what exactly had happened to her.  
  
After a soak in the tub, she was laying in bed. The room had once been her bedroom but was now little more than a glorified guest room. Little evidence existed to show that it had ever been her room, except the marks in the carpet from where her canopy bed had once rested. Even without the comforts of her memories, the room felt sufficiently comfortable, although she held out little hope for sleep that night.  
  
In a struggle to be practical amid her confusion, chaos, and well-hidden fear, she sat in bed composing a list. The things she needed after being presumed dead for two years were incalculable. First off she'd need an apartment, furniture, clothes, a car, and a job with the CIA - any other job, no matter how wonderful it might be or how fantastic she might have been at it, was entirely unacceptable during that juncture of her life. There were a million things she needed - shoes, socks, she even doubted if she had a pair of underwear to her name. CD's, books, photos . . . picture frames . . . *memories* . . .  
  
Sydney swore at the path her mind had taken her down as she wrestled with her pillows and attempted to sleep, leaving the light on dimly. She lay there struggling not to think of what she was now without, the people who were no longer a part of her life and may never be again. The night passed by slowly, and on nearly half a dozen occasions one of her parents had slipped in to study her for a few moments, seconds that ticked by like years as she did her best to feign sleep, a practice she hadn't used since she was a little girl. Eventually the morning peaked in through her window as she rolled onto her back and squinted her eyes open, feeling more exhausted than she had eight hours earlier, accepting that for at least a short while, sleep would be only a memory as her mind raced to catch up on all it had missed.  
  
That morning started what would be a long process of putting the pieces back together again. She spent the morning going through the classifieds, circling ads for cars and apartments that sounded promising. Jack and Laura had insisted that one if not both of them would co-sign with her when she went to make the more expensive purchases - after being dead for two years, her credit was understandably nonexistent.  
  
Sydney knew there were things to consider. There was a slight possibility that not all of her belongings had been given away to friends or charity and that some things might even be returned. While she knew logically it was unlikely she'd get anything back, the thought of having to start from scratch was too overwhelming for her first real morning back in Los Angeles. Still she had to start from somewhere, and by the afternoon she had racked up a considerable number of local phone calls and made arrangements to go look at a few local apartments and ads for cars that sounded promising.  
  
Once she'd thoroughly searched the classifieds for potential apartments and cars, she got down to the business of searching for evidence that her mother was in fact Laura Bristow. Neither Laura or Jack was home that morning and there was a note telling her not to expect them until the middle of the afternoon, with numbers to contact them in case of an emergency. There were so many questions that she needed an answer to, and she had no one else's help in finding what she sought. For nearly three hours she searched the house, careful to cover her tracks but searching every conceivable place for proof that her mother was not who she claimed to be. Instead, she found a birth certificate, pictures, diplomas and framed degrees, passports, a social security card with what appeared to be Laura's maiden name and even her parent's marriage certificate. Sydney was confident in her own ability to detect a counterfeit of something so basic, and her heart twisted as her mind validated the legitimacy of the documents she'd discovered. There was no one else and nothing else to help her confirm it. By the middle of the afternoon, she'd only found verifiable evidence proving that Laura Bristow was just a literature professor at UCLA.  
  
By the morning of the fifth day of October, Sydney was perhaps more confused than when she'd arrived back in Los Angeles three days ago. What troubled her most were her questions pertaining to Sloane. There was too much at stake to ask anyone about him. Instinctively she knew he had to be involved, but she couldn't decipher his motives, other than an unquenchable desire to ruin her life and rip her from everything she'd loved. In that aspect he'd been successful. Still she wanted nothing more than to delve into investigating him, aware that she would need the resources of the CIA, something her father was unwilling to discuss. That left her with far less advanced and thorough means of investigation, but she was determined to do what she could with the resources available.  
  
Afternoon arrived as Sydney sat perched at the home's computer, her back beginning to ache with the evidence that she'd been at this too long. The notepad in her lap was growing thinner as she took rapid fire notes on what she could find, leads to answer the myriad questions that haunted her dreams and nightmares. Nothing made sense, images that she'd always associated with comfort and safety would play through her mind before twisting into horror right before her mind's eye. There was no peace, only a massive black hole of questions and no quick answer.  
  
The doorbell rang, briefly unnerving her but forcing her to leave her computer-based investigation. As a child she remembered where her father would hide his gun, ironically something she always remembered her mother being uncomfortable with. Sydney was still a young child at the time, and Laura had been uncomfortable with a gun in the house when she was playing. The knowledge of where the gun was accessible was a slight comfort as she approached the door, having no expectations of visitors for the day.  
  
To her relief, she opened the door and smiled at an anxious Will and Francie. "Hey."  
  
"Hi," Will smiled sheepishly as Francie carried a large brown bag.  
  
"We bought lunch. Is this a bad time?"   
  
"No," Sydney smiled and shook her head, moving from the door to let them in. "What did you bring?"  
  
"Only your favorite," Francie smiled as she began to take out the styrofoam containers as the scent filled the Bristow's large formal dining room.  
  
"Shouldn't you be working?" she teased Will, grabbing the necessarily utensils as they sank into the large chairs.  
  
"I met my deadline, I'm free for a few hours," he shrugged, his grin disarming. Sydney could only smile back, having missed the sight of his grin, an easily smile that wasn't plagued by the horror she had unwillingly brought into his world.  
  
"So, how's everything going?" Francie questioned quietly as they dished out food.  
  
Sydney shrugged for a moment, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, "Okay. My dad's got a friend who's a real estate agent . . . I'm going to look at a place tonight, an apartment. If I like it, my dad's friend is going to help me cut through some of the red tape so I can move in."   
  
"Good," Will commented.   
  
"Just tell us when and we'll be there to help you move."  
  
"Which means we'll both be there but I'll be moving the boxes," Will pointed out as the two women laughed. "What about work?"   
  
"I haven't . . . I haven't been looking too hard to find a job," she conceded. There was no easy way to explain that the one job was the one her father was unwilling to discuss. Sydney knew there were ways around her father's disapproval, certainly methods he wouldn't approve of, but she couldn't let him stop her. "Right now I just want to find an apartment and a car . . ."  
  
"Have you called the school?" Francie asked. For a moment she watched her friend freeze before she shook her head and took a bite of her lunch.  
  
"No . . . "  
  
"Know what would be wild?" Will questioned, his face bright with a fresh idea as the two women looked at him. "You should go by the school Syd!" This is so Will!  
  
"Will - " Francie began, her tone a silent warning.  
  
"I'm serious! Think about it! We could drive her by her old place, take her by the school . . . It might help her memory!" he insisted. "Plus, c'mon, wouldn't it be wild? I mean I barely understand how Sydney can still be with us, but I'm sure the school would love it. We can go today! Maybe you can even get your job back, or at least a job . . . It might help to see some of your old friends too."  
  
"I don't know . . . " Sydney sighed.  
  
"I don't think today's a good idea. I have to go back to the restaurant -"  
  
"I don't have to go back today, I'll take Syd. C'mon, have you even left the house since you got home?"  
  
"No," she conceded.  
  
"It'll be fun Syd, and if it gets to be too much . . . well, we'll come right back," he promised, his expression sincere.  
  
Sydney felt her shoulder's sag as she met Francie's sympathetic eyes. "It might be a good idea Syd. You said you don't remember a lot, that you're confused . . . Seeing everyone again might help. Then I can meet you guys back here later and go with you to look at the apartment."  
  
"It's right by the beach," Sydney smiled. Then she expelled a deep breath and spoke, "Okay. We'll go."  
  
"Great!" Will grinned. "I promise Syd, this will help . . . And if not, I'll personally move everything in to your apartment."  
  
"Will, I don't have any furniture," she softly reminded him.  
  
"We'll fix that," Francie vowed. "We'll go shopping . . . I think I still have some of your furniture. Will and I were thinking about moving in and consolidating our stuff . . . "  
  
"Guys, you don't have to -"  
  
"It was your stuff to start with," her friend insisted. "Just . . . Just think about it Syd."  
  
"I will," she promised with a sigh before she met Will's eyes and tried her best to make her smile sincere. "We'll eat, then I'll leave my parents a note just in case, and we'll go." Will smiled widely before they turned to other conversation and finishing their food.  
  
An hour later she was sitting next to Will, on the highway heading in the direction of the school she taught at, a destination completely unknown to her. Thankfully her companion was uncharacteristically quiet, letting the music remain the only noise in the car as Sydney watched the exits pass and the scenery change as they approached her destination. Finally, nearly twenty minutes after they left her parents house, they got off of the highway. Only a few short turns later, they were pulling onto the property of St. Jude's High School.   
  
For a moment she wondered if she should have been surprised that she taught at a private school. Most of her education had been at private schools, including a boarding school for high school, until she'd gone to UCLA. The thought of teaching at one only seemed fitting. Truthfully she could never recall giving much thought to what type of position she'd hold once she got her Master's in Literature. SD-6 had always kept her too busy to consider the specifics of her own future.  
  
Will smiled at her as they got out of the car and approached the entrance. As they walked towards the front door, they walked over a bricked path with names on them. Sydney briefly registered Will's explaination that they put names of those who'd given donations to help refurbish the front of the building, instead she'd paused to focus on her own name on a brick, and a few bricks over the name of her parents. Apparently she'd been there long enough to put down roots, she thought as he opened the door and let her in.  
  
There were no security guards, no metal detectors, but it was obvious from even the front that the school was small. Judging by the exterior, she guessed perhaps three floors, none extensively large. Will placed a gentle hand on her back, breaking her evaluations as he led her left, directly into the front office. The man behind the desk grew wide-eyed at the sight of her, and she had the sinking suspicion she'd never liked him. Not because he was evil, but because he frankly was already beginning to annoy her.  
  
"He's not in a meeting . . . Just go in, I'm sure he'll want to see you," the elderly man motioned to the hallway behind him. Will tossed another smile in her direction, leaving her to wonder if it was for her benefit or his. Silently she smiled back as they walked down a tiny hallway and proceeded to knock on the blue door with the sign of "Principal" on it. Only a moment later the door opened and Sydney did her best not to lose her balance.  
  
"Sydney . . ." he replied, his tenor deep and the shock obvious on his usually stoic face. "Sydney," he sighed and pulled her in for a brief hug. "How? I thought . . . Are you okay?" he questioned, noting the color drain from her face.  
  
"I'm okay . . . Can I sit?" she questioned.  
  
"Of course," Marcus Dixon smiled at her and let her in. "I'm sorry . . . This is a shock Sydney, I don't know how else to explain it," he explained as he ushered her into a seat.   
  
"This . . . You're the principal," she noted softly, looking around the office, relieved to see pictures of Diane, Robyn and Steven, obviously recent. Diane was alive, something that was a tremendous relief to her otherwise troubled soul.  
  
"Yes . . . Mr. Curry left about seven months after we thought we'd lost you. Apparently I did good work as vice principal and they promoted me."  
  
"Congratulations," she whispered as he smiled at her.  
  
"How are you? Where have you been? Is there anything I can do -"  
  
"One question at a time," Will interjected as Sydney smiled, thankful for their friendship.  
  
"I'm sorry . . . I'm sure you already know this, but we thought you were dead."  
  
Sydney looked up and met the eyes of the man she recalled as her working partner and nodded. "I know . . . To answer your questions, I'm as well as can be expected. I don't know where I've been . . . I have no memories of the past two years."  
  
His face twisted in sympathy as he spoke, "I can't imagine how difficult all of this must be for you, but if there's anything Diane or I could do to help, we'd like to."   
  
She sucked in a deep breathes of stale office air and did her best to smile. "Right now I'm staying with my parents . . . There's not much anyone can do . . . I'm trying to get my life back in order," she explained. There was no way to explain that without the CIA and Vaughn; there was no sense of order. For so long that had been her order, Vaughn had become her happiness and her normalcy. She was beginning to loathe how he popped into her mind at the worst possible moments, but she suspected there was nothing she could do to stop it.  
  
"How long have you been in Los Angeles?"  
  
"A few days," she answered. "I woke up and didn't remember anything . . . I spent a night in the hospital. I'm fine."  
  
"Do they know what caused the memory loss?"  
  
"No," she sighed. It felt unnatural to keep details and nuggets of truth from the man across from her, but present circumstances left her no option. In her best interest, and his, the less Dixon knew, the better.  
  
"We filled your position Sydney . . . We didn't want to do it, but we had to. The class of 2003 worked their tails off to get a scholarship established before they graduated, in your honor, to a student who was going to study Literature or English. We thought it would be a fitting tribute," he conceded as she nodded, blinking rapidly and hoping to hide her tears. "I know that this is a difficult time for you . . . If there's anything Diane or I can do, anything, please, let us know," he advised as she promised. "In the meantime . . . I know you were considering leaving, but if you're still interested in working in the school, I'm sure I can find you a position. Any position. That way you would be in a familiar environment, around people you know, until a position opens up in English or the Language Departments."  
  
The smile that crossed her face was sincere as she recognized his generosity, something that transcended her former world into her new bizarre existence. To tell him that this environment was anything but familiar would only raise more questions and shatter his attempts to help her. She'd missed this Dixon, the man who still had his wife and his family, who hadn't had to watch his world torn out from under him and ripped into shreds. This kind man went home to a healthy, living wife and children. As much as this world had taken from her, it had given that back to him.  
  
"Thank you," she spoke. In the end, it would be a job, and Dixon's presence was still comforting despite the change in their dynamics.   
  
"C'mon," he slowly stood. "I'll take you around to see some of the kids. I'm sure they'll be thrilled."  
  
They were thrilled, as were a good number of the faculty, if not more than a little confused. There was so little she could tell them, since she knew so little herself. Even so, the reception was far more joyous than she'd expected. The classrooms were small, and the class numbers even smaller. The atmosphere was comfortable and friendly. She could imagine herself working there and being happy, and as they passed the plaque hung in her honor, she could only imagine how devastated those around her had been as a result her of apparent death.   
  
Francie was already sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea with Laura when Will brought her back from visiting the school. The four went in two separate cars to the apartment, following the directions provided by the real estate agent, having arranged for Jack to meet them there. Despite Eric Weiss' kind offer, since she was supposed to barely know him, she decided against contacting him regarding an apartment. Amazingly enough she'd been successful on her own, her search short but successful. The apartment they viewed incredible, with sliding doors that led out to a balcony with ocean and beach views. There was a large, spacious bedroom, a kitchen that was advanced enough for her rather basic cooking skills and a bathroom complete with an antique, claw-foot bathtub. Between the view and the bathtub, it was love at first sight.   
  
Evening crept into night. Laura had insisted her friends stay for dinner, but by ten the house was quiet. Sydney sat curled up on the living room sofa, her lap covered not only with her new rental agreement but trying to decipher all she'd uncovered that day with the help of the internet. Nearly an hour earlier her mother had excused herself for bed, and it was only when her father stood, blocking her light, that she realized he hadn't done the same.  
  
"Sydney, do you have a moment?"  
  
"Sure," she answered, closing the folder and setting it aside as her father sat down. Awkwardness sank into the room before she twisted and looked him in the eye, "Thanks dad. For helping me get the apartment . . . There's no way I would have gotten a rental agreement without your co-signature."  
  
Jack nodded, remaining silent as he reached into his pocket. A moment later he pulled out a badge and handed it to her. Sydney studied the laminated object for a moment before she looked up at her father in confirmation. "I spoke to the Director and Devlin . . . It's your security clearance. You're not to be field graded until we've discovered more of what you went through. Your clearance is low, but it's a start. As far as the CIA is concerned, your orientation is complete. The clearance doesn't go into effect until the twelfth."  
  
"Why not until then?" she asked, her eyes now studying the object in her hand.   
  
"I don't want you beginning until you have the apartment settled and a car," he explained. "Your mother and I . . . You went with your friend Will to visit the school today."  
  
"Yes," she confirmed.  
  
"I don't suppose it matters, but your mother and I would be relieved if you took a position there," he explained. At his daughter's silence, he added, "But I doubt you'll listen to my advice."  
  
"I can't dad," she sighed. "I can't go back . . . I need answers, and you know better than anyone that this is the only way to get them."  
  
"The CIA is going to use you Sydney, to get information on the Covenant -"  
  
"Then let them. Let them learn what happened to me while I do."  
  
"You're going to try regression therapy first. There are other . . . methods, but they are too dangerous. The results of such procedures are not worth what you would retrieve from your memory," he explained.   
  
"Thank you," she whispered as he stood.  
  
"Your welcome," he studied her for a moment before he spoke again. "It's late. You should get to bed," he advised.  
  
"Good night," she called as he disappeared up the staircase.   
  
Sydney had been back in Los Angeles less than a week when she planned to move into her new apartment. Jack and Laura were eager to see her get on her own two feet again, but less eager to see her living out of their safe perimeters. In her mind she had no other option. Living at home wasn't going to get her anywhere, and she needed the freedom. Thanks to her mother and Francie, a seemingly massive amount of work had been accomplished in just a few days. Not only had Sydney managed to buy a slightly used Jeep from a friend of Francie's, but they had bought or retrieved a modest amount of furniture and possessions to help furnish her new home.  
  
Will and Francie arrived early that Friday morning. They ate breakfast with her parents before they began the day-long task of moving. There were boxes to move and people from utility companies to meet at the apartment, leaving the day a frenzy of activity. A tremendous amount of planning had gone into that day, as well as for her weekend plans. Sydney only had five days before her clearance became valid at the CIA. Inevitably that would lead to work, and she had quite a bit she still wanted to accomplish on her own time before she began answering to the CIA again.  
  
The sunset had streaked the sky outside her apartment a mixture of purples, oranges, and reds as she began carrying the last carload of boxes over. Only her father was helping her by then. Laura had gone to get them something to eat for dinner while Francie had to go to manage the restaurant and Will had been paged to the paper. All other catastrophes aside, the day had been moderately successful and the four spacious rooms were beginning to look like a home.  
  
Exhausted, she let a box of photo albums drop to the floor with a slight thud. She'd been up late the night before, busy doing research and making arrangements, and her back was beginning to pay the price for spending too many hours hutched over a computer keyboard. Letting out a deep breath, she rested her hands on her hips and surveyed the room, pleased to see that the boxes were placed in the appropriate rooms, having teased Will earlier for putting a kitchen box in the tiny bathroom.  
  
From the open door behind her Sydney detected footsteps approach from the hallway. She allowed her eyes to slide close as she rolled her neck, waiting for her father to walk in with the last of the boxes. Instead she heard the footsteps end abruptly at her threshold. "I came by to offer to help," a male voice, one that was deeply imprinted in her soul, explained from the doorway. "I see I'm a little late now though," he added in amusement.  
  
Sydney slowly turned around, waiting for the sight in front of her to disappear into thin air. For a moment she studied him from head to toe, her heart twisting and nearly stopping altogether at the sight of the wedding band on his finger. Finally she met his eyes, her heavy mask of confusion and curiosity unable to completely hide the joy she felt at seeing him. He was married, but he was here, and perhaps he'd offer insight into her life that no one else could.  
  
"Danny." 


	4. Chapter 3

Between the Memory & the Moment  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele  
  
E-mail: loveuconnbasketball@yahoo.com  
  
~*Chapter 3*~  
  
The work we're doing here, trying to figure out who Rambaldi was, what he was working on, is becoming an obsession for me."  
  
"I'm still not sure I'm a believer."  
  
"Neither was I. Neither was I." - Sloane and Sydney, Page 47, season one  
  
"Your father could have been more specific with the time . . . I certainly could have been here earlier to help," he commented, his accent thick and his smile sincere. Sydney blinked, half expecting the moment, like the dozens she'd experienced in the past, to morph into a nightmare at any second.   
  
Then she took a step towards him, taking his left hand in hers, relieved to feel the warm flesh and the nearly undetectable feel of the blood pulsing through his body. Finally she looked up, his expression slowly growing confused, matching her own. After a moment she spoke the words that had seemed to echo through her mind since she returned, although never once in relation to the man standing before her. "You're married," she croaked, her voice heavy and confused.   
  
"Sydney," he gently let go of her hand and placed his hands on her shoulders, steadying her. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Not really," she whispered as her father walked in the door.  
  
"Danny," he greeted as the younger man stepped back and shook his hand. "I was wondering if you'd gotten too tied up in work to make it." In the two seconds it took the older man to subtly inspect the young doctor, it was obvious to Sydney that Jack's demeanor, and the invitation extended to Danny, was only for her benefit.   
  
"Work can wait, I had to come and see Sydney for myself," he grinned, a smile so disarming that it had once made her knees tremble. Although they'd never made her knees weak, Sydney realized sadly as she briefly considered whose smile had made her nearly crumble.  
  
"Sydney . . . I think we have the rest of it covered. Perhaps you and Danny should take a moment to go talk. Privately," Laura suggested as she eased into the room.  
  
"We could go walk on the beach. How about it Sydney?" Danny suggested. Weakly she nodded as she grabbed her coat and silently followed him out of the apartment. They remained silent for a few minutes, their arms brushing occasionally as they began to leave a trail on the sand behind them, the sky growing darker as they strolled. "Your father said you've been confused since you returned."  
  
"Yes," she agreed, unable to stop looking at him, and at the same not entirely comfortable gazing at him. This was not the man that she remembered, and as much as she'd always love him, she wondered if should have felt guilty for falling so deeply in love with Vaughn, far deeper in love with Vaughn than she'd been with Danny. In her reality Danny was dead, and in this reality she had been dead for two years.   
  
"I don't want to confuse you even more," he sighed and stopped. Then he turned slightly to meet her eyes, "What is the last memory you have, of me? Of us?"  
  
Instantly blood and gore, her seven month fear of bathtubs, popped into her mind. His body, cold and lifeless, and unwittingly meeting his killer months later in Romania. He was killed, just because she hadn't told him the truth. Sometimes she wondered if she could go back, if she hadn't said anything and set him free, knowing what she knew now. Then again, his death, as painful as it was, had led her to Vaughn. No matter what anyone told her, she refused to believe that it had all been in her imagination. All the pain and the pleasure, all the suffering, had to have happened. There was an explanation, and she was going to find the source of her pain and strangle it out of him if she had to.  
  
"We had just gotten engaged," she lied. It was the last painless memory she had of him, back when they'd been mingled in joint happiness and her hidden life. Their happiness had never really been pure joy, not in the sense that she had briefly known it with another, not when so much of who the person she was remained hidden not only from Danny but from herself.   
  
"My god Sydney, that's four years ago," his eyes widened.  
  
"Four years?" she swallowed as he nodded. Slowly she lowered herself to the sand, bringing her knees up in front of her. Only a moment later he joined her.   
  
"We were engaged in May of 2001," Danny patiently relayed as she nodded. "You . . . your car crashed in the spring of 2003," he explained. "That's two years. You don't remember anything?" he questioned as she silently lied with a shake of her head. Of course she remembered, but her memories were of SD-6 and a path of self discovery, a long buried family secret, and a path that had led her into the arms of a now married man.   
  
"Seeing you now . . . Obviously, we thought you were dead, but I always had so many regrets. We began to plan the wedding. Between both our schedules, it was taking a lot of time," he explained. "We didn't want a large wedding, but you wanted every little detail to be perfect - which was perfectly fitting to your character," he chuckled, his eyes on the setting sky and his focus distant, his memory obviously on another lost life. "We were going to get married in September. September of 2003. It would have been my great grandparent's hundred and fifth anniversary . . . They were married for so long, and I'd loved them so much. We agreed it would be a perfect date. I'd be closer to starting a practice, you'd have finished graduate school, and we hoped to have a deposit for a house ready . . . " he paused and hesitantly reached for her hand. For a long pause, he studied her fingers against his larger, darker hand before he released it and looked back at the sun.   
  
"Then your father began recruiting you. About a year before we planned on getting married. You graduated that January, nine months before we were supposed to get married, with your master's . . . Out of the blue your father starts recruiting you to be a CIA agent, obviously not caring that you seemed perfectly happy teaching at St. Jude's . . . I behaved badly Sydney," he whispered as he met her eyes. "I had wanted a wife who taught high school English and Literature, who would be home. I wasn't crazy over the thought of you risking your life for your country. Not when I thought it was more your father's dream than yours . . . We could never reach a compromise over it. I didn't want you to even consider it, but you couldn't help yourself. You considered it and decided it was what you wanted. You began orientation and were preparing to leave St. Jude's . . . I hated the idea Sydney, I was crazy with anger . . . "  
  
"We broke up?"  
  
"I had begun to move out when you . . . When we lost you," he admitted. "We weren't ready to tell anyone, but we had begun to discuss calling off the wedding . . . I loved you Sydney. Very much, but you weren't the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, the type of lives we wanted didn't match up . . . It was very difficult for me when you died. I wasn't in love with you anymore, but I cared about you a great deal, and still do. That's why I'm here today. I wanted to help . . . I was also hoping we could be friends. If you recalled my actions prior to your disappearance, you'd probably agree that I don't deserve the chance, but I was hoping for it anyway."  
  
"You're married," Sydney repeated as Danny chuckled and nodded.  
  
"Yes. For about a year now."  
  
"A year," she choked, her eyes wide.  
  
"Yes," he replied. "You met her a few times. Her name is Lucy, she's a nurse at the hospital."  
  
"I think I remember," she sincerely replied. "Peds nurse, right?"  
  
"That's the one," he smiled. "She's wonderful . . . I think you liked her when you met her."  
  
"I did," she sniffled softly. "I'm happy for you."  
  
"I was a bit afraid to come see you today," Danny admitted. "We hadn't parted on the best of terms . . . I was always sorry about how things ended. I can't tell you how relieved I am to see you, alive . . ."  
  
"Thank you," Sydney reached for his hand and lightly squeezed it.  
  
Danny squeezed back, his expression confused despite the half smile on his lips. "For what?"  
  
"For being here . . . For taking the time to see me, to explain things to me . . ."  
  
"You're an incredible woman Sydney, but I don't know of many who return from the dead. I had to see it for myself," he quirked as she silently smiled, having missed his quirky sense of humor. "So, what are you going to do?"  
  
"Work for the CIA," she sighed, letting go of his hand and studying the sand. After a moment, she met his eyes and elaborated, knowing she owed him at least that much. "Whatever happened to me, I can't understand it on my own, and I certainly can't find out what happened to me or who did this to me or why, without the CIA's resources."  
  
"What about St. Jude's?"  
  
"I visited," Sydney smiled at the recent trip. "Everyone was . . . shocked, but wonderful," she recalled softly. "Dixon said they'd always have a job for me, if I wanted one. Maybe not teaching, but there'd always be a job."  
  
"He's a good man."  
  
"He is," she agreed.   
  
"So, do you like it? Working for the CIA?"   
  
Surprisingly enough, it took all of her willpower to bite back a "yes". Of course she liked it, although she wondered what essential elements would be lacking when she began. Would they have Marshall? Carrie? Dixon would be absent, but he hadn't been her partner much of late. Jack would no doubt be there, watching her like a hawk, and Devlin. She assumed Kendall would be supervising her as well, since Jack had referred to another director in conjunction with Devlin. Then there was Vaughn, a name that brought up a massive emotional landmine that she was far from ready to tackle yet, but she knew working at the CIA without him would be notably lacking.  
  
"I haven't started yet," she reasoned. "My security clearance goes into effect in less than a week," she explained.  
  
"What are you going to do in the meantime?"  
  
"Unpack," Sydney grinned. "Get the apartment in order. I'm going on a trip this weekend."  
  
"This weekend?" Danny's eyes widened as she briefly looked at him.  
  
"There's something I need to see," she softly replied, her eyes back on the sunset. Silence descended the couple for just a moment before she looked at him, "Please don't mention this to anyone. I haven't told my parents yet. They seem hesitant to let me move out, but this is something I need to do before I can start understanding what happened to me. Do you understand?"  
  
"Of course Sydney," he nodded. "If there's anything you need, anything I can do . . . I know I told you we didn't part on the best of terms, but I hope you know you can turn to me. I might not agree with what your job, but I'd like you to know I'm your friend."  
  
"I know," she agreed. "I'm glad you came."  
  
"When you told me what your father did, recruiting you, wanting you to work for the government, I wanted to save you," he whispered, looking away from her. "You didn't need me to save you Sydney, you never did . . . You've found yourself," Danny explained. "I don't remember you ever being so certain of yourself and of what you wanted. You were always a bit shy, a bit withdrawn. I know it had nothing to do with my influence, but I'm proud of you," he whispered, wrapping his arm around her. Quickly he pulled her towards him, dropping a light kiss against her temple before pulling back.   
  
Sydney smiled as they sat in silence, the sky growing dark and the temperature rapidly descending. After a few moments he stood, offering her his hand in a gesture of chivalry and walked with her back to the apartment.   
  
Wherever she'd been, whatever she'd been doing for the last two years, Sydney sincerely doubted she'd missed transatlantic flights. Even with her dislike of long flights and the inevitable jetlag, her plans could not be changed. Less than forty-eight hours ago she'd been moving into her new apartment, sitting on cardboard boxes and listening to how Danny and Lucy became involved as Laura insisted they eat something.   
  
Now she sat in business class, waiting for their landing, scheduled for less than half an hour. Sunday's in October weren't especially hectic travel days, and she hoped her return would be as smooth. Particularly compared to the frantic work she'd endured to not only find the money for the flight but to come up with an alias and disguise to get on the flight. If it hadn't been for a late night commercial for discounted flights on non-peak hours and the remnants of an old Halloween costume, she would have been in an even bigger predicament. There was no doubt in her mind that Jack Bristow had taken every precaution, not stopping at the thought of assigning CIA agents to watch her around the clock. This was one trip that no one, especially not her father or anyone at the CIA, could be aware of.  
  
  
  
Her mood during the next flight would be entirely determined by the unscheduled meeting she intended to have, the sole reason she'd made up a flimsy excuse to both her parents and her friends and skipped out of the country, less than ten days since she returned from the dead. Some things couldn't be explained, not sufficiently, not before she had answers for herself. Then perhaps she could stop feeling as though she'd woken up in the twilight zone, but she refused to get too hopeful. Instead she focused on the anger, unwilling to acknowledge the other emotion that swarmed through her soul, the bone-aching numbness that could easily eat her alive if she let it.  
  
Switzerland was a beautiful country, the only neutral country in the world. A safe haven for criminals and those who had been persecuted. Sydney was aware that the taxes were admittedly astronomical, but the people were well cared for by their government, educated and healthy, and free from the fear of war or interference from other countries. With that in mind, it left little to the imagination to see why Arvin Sloane had made his home there.  
  
Not only did he have a home there, but according to her research, he was the CEO of a firm that specialized in appraising artifacts and antiques - to Sydney it sounded like an entirely justifiable way of getting a hold of something Rambaldi. More surprisingly, he had recently been named CEO of a world health organization. What left her only more suspicious was the lack of actual background information that was accessible on the internet, when most companies would have at least a rough sketch of their CEO's history. The thought of Arvin Sloane putting the welfare of others before himself was laughable, and the thought of him getting his hands on anything Rambaldi was just terrifying.  
  
She'd traveled light, with no intentions of this being a long visit. Sydney would get her answers, do her best to restrain from injuring him in front of too many witnesses, and return home. There was a job to start and a security clearance that went into effect in a few short days, and innumerable questions that needed to be answered. As far as she was concerned, the man she was going to visit had taken more than enough of her life from her, once she had what she needed, she refused to let him take anymore.  
  
It had taken a good deal of convincing on her part to even arrive in the waiting room of Sloane's office. From then it was only a few short moments for him to tell his secretary to send her in, his tone on the intercom lacking any surprise or confusion. Then she sent a forced smile in the direction of the secretary and walked in, having no qualms as she slammed the door behind her.   
  
"Sydney," he smiled at her, standing in front of his desk. Dressed in a gray suit, he looked exactly as he always had, including the wedding band that she could always remember him wearing. "I was hoping you'd be coming to visit me soon. Admittedly, I hadn't expected you this soon, but it's a lovely surprise."  
  
"What the hell have you done to me?" she demanded, too jetlagged and too focused on her anger to let him distract her for even a moment.  
  
The smile Sloane sent her left the goosebumps on her arm until she boarded the plane to return home three hours later. There was a glimmer in his eye, something that had been in his eyes for years as he controlled her life from behind the desk at SD-6. The look of a man who knew something about you that you didn't even know, a man who had control over every aspect of your life, and wasn't afraid to brag about it. "I've done nothing Sydney," he placated, his voice remaining even. "I've only done what I could to insure that you had everything you ever wanted. To give you what I always wanted you to have - what Emily always dreamed of you having -"  
  
"*Don't*!" she flared, stepping closer to him, her finger pointed in his direction. "Don't *ever* use Emily as justification for your crimes, not with me! And don't even *think* about telling me what Emily would have wanted!" Sydney demanded as Sloane rested his hands calmly in front of him and watched her continue, his face blank. "What the hell did you do to me?! How come I remember *nothing* of the last two years? How come I've woken up in this world where no one remembers anything the same way I do!?" she snapped. "What did you do? How did you do this? Why did you take away *everything* that was important to me, that meant something to me, just as I was *really* happy?"  
  
"Things weren't perfect Sydney," he calmly replied. "There's no such thing as perfection. Not even in the apparent normalcy you thought you'd found."  
  
"You *ruined* my life!" she accused, feeling the tears well up in her eyes, unwilling to lower her tone or erase any of her hostility. "You ruined *everything* again!! The one man I love, the one man I wanted to spend forever with, is married!"  
  
For only a moment Sydney was confused by the way his grin changed, until he replied only seconds later. "Yes. I heard about Danny," he replied as she glared at him. "Before you take any rash action Sydney, I must warn you that there are security cameras and guards waiting to answer at a moment's notice," he calmly explained. "I've learned two things Sydney," he sighed, his tone a silent threat as he studied his hands for a moment then he looked back at her. "Nothing is ever perfect, and some things always happen, regardless of how we twist the circumstances."  
  
Sydney took a moment to rub her temples and subtly surveyed the security feed. There were three visible cameras, and knowing Sloane, there were likely more. This was unsanctioned by the CIA, her father was unaware that she was even there, and before her was the only man who had answers. So she swallowed back every instinct and sat down on the room's couch, resting her hands on top of her thighs. Then she met Sloane's eyes, struggling to remain neutral. "Explain it to me."  
  
"The last time we saw one another, I had finally completed Rambaldi's work. I'd spent years trying to decipher what it was, what it could do. In the end, it was both a machine and a message."  
  
"A message?"  
  
"Yes," he paused for a moment, his gaze far away before he looked at her. "Peace."  
  
"You said there was a machine as well," she pressed on.  
  
"Yes, that," he agreed, taking his eyes from hers. "I'm sure your aware of this Sydney, but Rambaldi's goal was immortality, and he'd decided the way to do that was with this machine."  
  
"What did you do with it?"  
  
"I used it to go back to late 1960's . . . It was around the time that your parents met, just months before actually, while I was still local to the CIA. Emily was young and healthy, working for the state department. By going back, I hoped to prevent my earlier mistakes and rectify the difficulties it had caused in your life."  
  
"Time travel?" Sydney studied him skeptically. "You want me to believe that Rambaldi's machine was a time machine?"  
  
"Whether you believe me or not Sydney, it's the only explanation I can offer you. From that point on, I did my best to correct my past crimes, and after you arrived, I tried to do my best to steer you towards a normal life."  
  
"What about SD-6? The Alliance?"  
  
"They existed for less than five years before the CIA was able to take them down," he calmly replied.  
  
"How?"  
  
"Given what I knew from our shared past Sydney, I was able to insure that the CIA had the contacts and information they needed before the Alliance gained too much momentum."  
  
Sydney shook her head and studied her hands for a moment before she looked back at him, detesting that the rather small man before her was the only one who held the answers she so desperately needed. "What about my mother?"  
  
"Ironic, isn't it?" he smirked. A moment later he continued, his expression turning serious, "Actually Sydney, it was your mother who led me to realize something. When she didn't fake her own death when you were six, and when nothing came up regarding her identity as Irina Derevko or ties to the KGB, I was left to realize that the machine hadn't worked exactly as I planned."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"I did manage to travel back in time Sydney, a concept that twentieth century scientists have spent decades trying to understand was conquered by a seventeenth century architect. Except there was a flaw in the machine, whether Rambaldi put it there intentionally or it was an error on my part . . . Well, I'll never be certain," he conceded. "I had traveled back in time to a different parallel."  
  
"An alternative universe?" Sydney spat. "Are you kidding me?" she demanded, rising to her feet. "What have you done? There's no such thing -"  
  
"Now Sydney, before you rush to judgment, you have to be aware that plenty of credible scientists say that it's not only possible but by some measurements even likely that such things exist. How else could you even begin to explain all the changes in this world then from the world you and I both knew?"  
  
"I don't know yet," she barked. "I don't know, but I wouldn't bet against your involvement."  
  
"I already told you the extent of my involvement. Unfortunately, even in a different universe, or perhaps fortunately in your case, some things happen either way," he softly added. For a moment she stopped the furious pacing that she'd begun and looked at him, silently waiting his explanation. "Despite my best efforts, regardless of the way I'd tried to lead my life . . . Emily was still diagnosed with lymphoma," Sloane explained, his voice cracking as Sydney slowly sat back down on the sofa, waiting his explanation. "Like before, she went into remission, but she relapsed. The doctors weren't able to catch it quickly enough . . . Her condition had worsened. There was little they could do."  
  
"She died anyway," Sydney pieced together, blinking back her tears as the man before he nodded. Throughout the deaths and pain that seemed to sprawl throughout Sydney's entire existence, this had been their shared pain, their common grief. "You wanted to save her."  
  
"It was one of my main goals, yes," he agreed, standing up and pouring himself a glass of water. "She had been killed, I thought, because of my crimes. The same reason your life had seemingly been torn apart on more than one occasion. So, when I found that Rambaldi's message was peace, I was a changed man. Afterall, I had spent decades of my life searching for his meaning. I wanted peace Sydney," he shrugged, leaning back against his desk and suddenly looking old and tired in his gray suit. "It turns out, nothing I could have done would have saved Emily, but I'll still never forgive myself for losing her," he whispered, looking down at his water before he took a drink.   
  
They sat in silence for a few moments, Sydney struggling to decide what to believe. The sound of his empty glass hitting his desk caused her to look up as he broke their solitude. "So you see Sydney, you're now my only hope. Your life is my only opportunity to insure that my quest, my decision to leave everything behind and use Rambaldi's machine, wasn't all in vain. That you're safe, and happy . . . That what you had with Mr. Vaughn has the strength to carry over into this world. Your bond with him reminded me of what I shared with Emily - a bond so strong that it will never be completely severed," he explained, his voice low and full of an unusual emotion - regret. "All I can hope for now Sydney is that you have the life you always wanted. That despite my past crimes, you see that I love you like a daughter, and always will."  
  
Sydney stood, her arms crossing instinctively as she took a step towards him. "No matter what you do in this world, no matter what you say or do or how much you've supposedly changed, it doesn't take away from what we both know you did. It doesn't take away from your crimes, the fact that there's apparently another universe out there still suffering from what you did! It doesn't change what you did to Danny!"  
  
"Danny's alive now Sydney," he reminded her.  
  
Her eyes slid shut as she took a step back. Sloane remained still as he studied her, pacing for just a few moments before she looked over at him, a new fear in her brown eyes. "If this is a different universe, what happened to the people in my world? My father and Vaughn? Francie? Will?" her voice grew more distressed as her list carried on.  
  
"I don't know," he answered. "Unfortunately, given the apparent glitch in the machine, we'll never know. It's not like television Sydney, where you can flip the channel and see how the storyline has progressed from time to time. The machine destroyed itself after I used it."  
  
"I don't believe you."  
  
Sloane shrugged, "They're the only answers I have."  
  
"Then why have I missed two years? Why did people here think I was dead?"  
  
"As I said before Sydney, there were flaws in the machine. I was unaware that it would be a different universe, that you'd apparently die in this universe. I had set the machine to take you two years into the future because then you'd be thirty."  
  
"What does that have to do with anything?"  
  
"It's not easy to explain Sydney, it was mandatory for the machine. Plus, I went back to thirty when I used the machine."  
  
"You still took away two years of my life! The people I love! They're still out there, suffering, because again you made decisions about my life! You couldn't even manage to *help* me without making my life a disaster!"  
  
"I can understand how you feel that way Sydney, but it wasn't intentional. You have a clean slate now, your still young, safe and healthy."   
  
"An international terrorist organization tried to kill me in this world - how do you deem that as safe?"  
  
"In this world, you had made the decision to join the CIA. By doing that, I can only imagine you upset whatever enemies your father surely must have. He carried the guilt of your death heavily Sydney. It was a difficult time for me as well, since I'd just lost Emily and I was uncertain if the machine would work and if I'd get to see you again."  
  
"No one gave you the right to play God to the world. You always just *take* it! It was my life! Yes, it was horrible and painful and difficult sometimes, but it was *my* life, *my* decisions! If I ever see you or hear your name or even *suspect* your involved in my life, nevermind something that could damage the CIA or the people I love, I will make sure you live to hate the day you heard the name Milo Rambaldi."  
  
"Sydney -"  
  
"No," she shook her head. "No more," she decided as she turned quickly on her heel and walked out the door, leaving Arvin Sloane with only the quick echo of her heels. 


	5. Chapter 4

Between the Memory & the Moment  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele  
  
E-mail: loveuconnbasketball@yahoo.com  
  
~*Chapter 4*~  
  
"It's funny, when I wrote the pilot I didn't even think much about Vaughn in advance and when I got to the scene I was writing I was like 'oh my god, he's going to become her lover, her best friend, but it's going to take time'." - JJ Abrams, Truth Be Told (pilot) commentary   
  
Mondays were always relatively non-descript days for Michael Vaughn. For the most part, he held a rather non-descript job as well. Not to say he wasn't well respected - he was a senior agent, he even had a secretary to help him out when necessary. Except his job would never be described by most in the agency as especially vital or even especially important. Truthfully he hadn't been in the field for years, he was rarely even sent out of the Los Angeles metropolitan area, but on that Monday in October, he hoped he'd taken the first steps in changing his standing in the agency.  
  
Two quick knocks and a moment later Eric Weiss walked in, not bothering to wait for him to call him in. Vaughn looked up at his friend for a moment, the other man slouched heavily against the closed door, his eyebrows raised and his hands in his pockets - a sure sign he was waiting for something.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"I heard this crazy rumor," he shrugged.  
  
"About what?"  
  
"About the fact that you apparently *volunteered* to take on Sydney Bristow's case, to essentially be her partner until we have a better understanding of her missing two years and until she has a better understanding of the inner workings of the CIA."  
  
  
  
"What's so crazy about that?"   
  
"Well, first of all, I was the one training Sydney when she initially decided to join the CIA. There's no reason for that to change now."  
  
Vaughn's temper flared as he glared across the room. "What? Are you saying I purposely tried to take away your assignment?"   
  
"No, what I'm saying is that I'm not entirely convinced you're ready to handle Sydney Bristow," Eric snapped. In his chair, Vaughn brought his hand up to quickly massage his temples as his friend exhaled heavily and took a moment to compose himself. When he began again a moment later, he lacked his accusation, his concern for his best friend evident. "Mike . . . I'm just worried that it's too soon. He won't say it, but I know that you're -"  
  
"Don't bring him into this. Any concern he may have is entirely personal, and so is yours. How long I've been back with the agency has no impact on my job performance."  
  
"No, but it's only been four months . . . No one expects this to be easy for you. These past few months have been difficult, we all understand that. Sydney Bristow," he hesitated. "She's going to be a fantastic agent - hell, she's Jack Bristow's kid, she has no choice," he chuckled. "Seriously Mike, she's going to need a lot of help. Don't get into something you can't finish, just to prove to yourself and the rest of us that you can do the field work and long hours again."  
  
"I can do it," he answered, his voice devoid of any doubt.  
  
"Okay," Weiss nodded, slinking into his guest chair. "What's on your mind?" he questioned as Vaughn let his hand slip briefly into his suit pocket, fingering the object that had weighed down his jacket for days.  
  
"Do you know a good jeweler? I need to get a watch fixed."   
  
"Yeah," he shrugged. "I must have a name of one somewhere. There was that guy who fixed that mantle clock for my mother a few months ago. Is it the one Lauren gave you?"  
  
"No," he shook his head, his voice dipping almost unnoticeably. "It was my father's watch, the one that kept perfect time."  
  
"No wonder you've been running late recently," Weiss quipped as Vaughn rolled his eyes.  
  
"It's weird. Perfect time for over forty years and it just died while I was in Hong Kong."  
  
Weiss met his friend's gaze across the desk, his expression curious, "didn't you get drunk one time and tell me that your father told you to set your heart by that watch?" he questioned. Silently Vaughn nodded. "What do you think it means that it stopped the day you met Sydney Bristow?"  
  
"Nothing," he answered quickly, a distinct edge to his tone. "It doesn't mean anything Eric. Just get me the name of the jeweler."  
  
"Sure," Eric agreed and pulled to his feet. "Seriously though Mike, Sydney Bristow's security clearance doesn't go into effect until Wednesday. If you change your mind before then, let me know."  
  
"I won't," he emphatically replied.  
  
"I hope your doing the right thing."  
  
"I am," he assured him. As the office door clicked shut behind his friend, Vaughn's thoughts turned to the woman who had managed to shadow in his mind since he'd met her just weeks ago in Hong Kong.  
  
For most of her life, Sydney Bristow had appreciated her own intellect, enjoyed the opportunities her god-given knowledge had awarded her. Except now she hated most of her own thoughts, despised how Michael Vaughn continually found his way into her subconscious and how her nights were now spent pondering Sloane's words. Sleep had mostly eluded her since her return from the dead. To distract herself from the painful questions of the day, she did her best to wear away at the long hours of the night. She'd lie in her bed and read books that she'd read a lifetime ago, books that every English teacher should read and know by heart. Occasionally she'd turn on the television, losing herself in cable repeat of "The West Wing" or an international tennis tournament. When all else failed, she turned to her mother's method of relieving stress and killing time - baking.  
  
The internet was apparently a fantastic tool for locating recipes and ideas of food combinations that she never would have considered trying to master if it wasn't for the hours between dusk and dawn that she was so desperate to survive. As desperate as she was for a more fulfilling explanation, Sydney was more terrified that Sloane was right, that perhaps all her dreams would reveal was the black hole that her life had been over the past two years. So she baked, making use of the small but efficient kitchen, and sinking into the aged living room sofa, watching the dark waves lull onto the beach as the moon waned overhead while the gas oven baked her goodies and warmed the house. For years it had been Francie's routine for nights when sleep was impossible to find, and she found it made the hours go by faster, even if sleep was still elusive.   
  
Why her father arranged for her security clearance to be valid on a Wednesday was something she never understood and never dared ask. Instead she prepared for the day, going through the steps that had been routine in her earlier life. Nothing made sense, and if Sloane was being truthful, nothing might ever make sense to her. There would always be something missing, no matter where she went with her life.   
  
Sydney stepped into the CIA through the front door, fighting off memories of Vaughn and the days following the collapse of the Alliance. That was gone, and there was little point to dwell on it, there was already so much she had to deal with in her life. With the confidence of a Bristow, she stepped up to the front desk and recited, nearly word for word, her father's instructions from the previous night's telephone conversation. A moment later she thanked the receptionist for her directions and headed towards the elevator, prepared for whatever the day held.  
  
"Come in," a familiar male voice called minutes later as Sydney knocked on Director Devlin's office door. Stepping inside, she was only half surprised to see her father occupying one of the director's visitor's chairs, his CIA clearance badge visible on his suit jacket.  
  
"Sydney," Jack spoke, "This is Director Devlin. Ben, this is my daughter Sydney."  
  
"We've met before, I'm glad to see your doing well Sydney," Devlin shook her hand before silently motioning for her to take the free seat. "How are you feeling Sydney?"  
  
"I'm fine," she emphatically assured him.  
  
"Good," Devlin nodded and glanced down at the folder on his desk. "After meeting with you in the hospital, Agent Weiss has recommended that you be considered for a field grade. Your father and I have discussed it, you have the qualifications and the physical you underwent at the hospital says you're more than ready for it, if it's something your interested in."  
  
"Yes, it is."  
  
"I'm glad to hear it. On most days you'll be reporting to the Joint Task Force headquarters - Jack will tell you where to go. The JTF is run primarily by the CIA in cooperation with the FBI, NSC and various other organizations. Sydney, you're going to be working to cut off information that may be sought after by terrorist cells, including the organization that we believe is responsible for your abduction. You'll be in the field two, maybe three times a week, most won't be for longer than an overnight."   
  
Devlin paused for a moment as Sydney digested the basics of her new life. "When you go out in the field, you'll be using some of the most advanced and clandestine technology to obtain the information you need. You'll be working with one of our best tech guys, Marshall Flinkman. His office is at the Joint Task Force headquarters and your father will introduce you to him when tomorrow," he explained. Sydney did her best to keep back her smile, instantly relieved to hear him mention Marshall's name. He'd been terribly sweet to her from the moment they'd met, back at SD-6, and she couldn't imagine he was any different in this world. "Once in awhile you'll need to report here, but you'll either be paged or know in advance. Also, you'll be working in the office and in the field with a partner," he explained.  
  
"Who?" she asked, glancing from her father and Devlin, watching as the two men shared a pointed look before they turned to her.  
  
"Michael Vaughn, the man you called from Hong Kong, has offered to work with you. If the situation is too difficult for you -"  
  
"No, dad, it's fine," she stopped Jack before he could even suggest what she knew came next. As painful as it would be, the CIA without Vaughn was something Sydney wasn't sure she wanted to know. In the field, there was no one she trusted more to watch her back, and at least she could be in his life. Not that she'd be anywhere near the importance of what his wife is to him, but she could take solace that she'd be his work partner, she wouldn't have to worry that he was out in the field with someone who wasn't keeping him safe.  
  
"Of course it's fine Jack," Devlin stopped him. "Just don't beat up your partner again Sydney, okay? There are easier ways of getting to know a colleague," he suggested, his lips curved into an unusual smile. A moment later she smiled, going along with his joke.   
  
"That's fine," she looked to Devlin, who nodded.  
  
"Good, I'm sure Agent Vaughn would like to formally meet you. This is his office number," the director leaned over and handed her a piece of paper. With a quick glance, Sydney realized it was the exact same office she remembered him having in the CIA headquarters, the office where he'd taken a leap of faith and told her that he had an instinct about her. The place where, good or bad, everything they'd had in her memory had been set into motion. "They'll be expecting you tomorrow at the Joint Task Force headquarters," Devlin added as all three stood. "It's good to have you."  
  
"Thank you," she smiled and shook his hand. Sydney glanced at her father and nodded slightly before she walked out of the room.  
  
It would have been a half-truth to say Sydney was planning on dropping by Vaughn's office that day before Devlin sent her there. The thought had been drifting through her conscious mind for days, haunting her into her dreams. Thoughts of dropping by his office, wanting to see him and insure that he was okay, and all safely packaged under the pretense of apologizing for her behavior in Hong Kong. Now, not only did she have an even more believable reason to see him, but she was under orders from Devlin, leaving her unable to back out because of any second thoughts she might have.  
  
Sydney instinctively navigated the tight cluster of desks and work stations that led to Vaughn's office. She only remembered being there once, but she remembered every angle and curve of the building as she approached. As ridiculous as she knew it was, Sydney still fought with the anxious butterflies and tears that pooled at the back of her eyes. There was so little to lose by this, by the standards of her new life there was nothing at risk here, except in her soul everything was put in jeopardy when she knocked on his door.  
  
"Yeah?" he called wearily through the door.  
  
Taking this as a semi-invitation, she stuck her head in, "Is this a bad time?"  
  
Vaughn looked up, immediately on his feet as he waved her in. "No. I'm sorry Sydney. I didn't realize you'd be coming now."  
  
"If this is a bad time, I can -"  
  
"No," he briefly shut his eyes, his head shaking as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his left hand, a bitter reminder of what wasn't hers. "I'm sorry, please, take a seat," he gestured for her to sit in a familiar seat. Sydney did her best to look around nonchalantly, noting that the sole picture frame on his desk was facing away from her while he walked around to lean against the front of his desk. Even in her attempt to scan his office, she caught him as he tried to be subtle, his eyes looking her over before their eyes caught.  
  
"I wanted to apologize. For Hong Kong. What I said . . . What I did," she added, her voice dropping. "I had no right. None of it had anything to do with you," Sydney admitted. The words were a truth she hated to acknowledge, in this new world, she had nothing with Michael Vaughn, except a newly assigned working relationship.   
  
"You didn't do anything, you just caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting your call, I certainly wasn't expecting . . . " he trailed off awkwardly. Vaughn glanced down at the floor and then back at her, "It's fine."  
  
"Thank you," she granted him a small, brief smile before she went to stand. "I just wanted -"  
  
"Wait," he put his hand up, she paused and lowered herself back into her seat. Then he glanced over his shoulder, annoyed at how unorganized he could let his desk get at times. On the corner he spotted what he sought and grabbed it, unable to look at the woman in his office as he spoke. "You were so confused in Hong Kong, I know how hard it is, to have to adjust, to try to understand where everyone else is coming from when . . ." he halted and sighed, shaking his head. Still, his eyes remained drawn on the file in his hand, "I copied your personnel file. I thought, I don't know, I thought it might help. Answer some of your questions," he finally met her eyes and handed it to her.  
  
"Thank you," she took it from him, forcing down the warmth that spread quickly through her. "Vaughn, thank you."  
  
"We were supposed to work together, before they thought you died. We were going to work together but we never had an opportunity to meet."   
  
"No one told me that," she tore her eyes away from his, slowly opening the file. As she flipped through the pages, preliminarily scanning the pages of information that told the story of her own life, she felt his eyes on her. When Sydney looked up, she was only partially surprised that her eyes immediately met his, catching him mid-gaze.  
  
"Do you need anything? You've seen a doctor -"  
  
"No, I don't need anything," she assured him. Then she looked away, tugged at her sleeves, feeling Vaughn's eyes on her as she tried not to cry. "Thank you for helping me."  
  
Before he could reply, someone knocked heavily on the door. Vaughn gave Sydney a quick half-smile as he stood and approached the door as she slowly gathered her things and got to her feet.  
  
"Michael," an unfamiliar male voice began, "Ben just told me about Agent Bristow -" he halted when Sydney Bristow came into sight.  
  
"I already know," Vaughn answered quietly, obviously embarrassed as he looked to Sydney. She smiled at the man, studying him for a moment, struggling to remember where she'd seen him before. The man before her was easily old enough to be her father, he appeared to be the same height as Vaughn, his hair a blinding white and slowly receding, his features inexplicably familiar as he appeared tall and proud in a suit and tie.   
  
"Michael, are you going to introduce us?" the older man questioned.  
  
"Sydney Bristow, this is my father, Director William Vaughn." 


	6. Chapter 5

Between the Memory & the Moment  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele  
  
E-mail: loveuconnbasketball@yahoo.com  
  
~*Chapter 5*~  
  
Drawing the lines to the introduction were easy, so trivial that it surprised her she hadn't thought of it before. The reverse of a chain reaction - no Irina Derevko, no one killed William Vaughn. Just the way it worked with Danny - no SD-6, no secret, no murder. Still, as she sat in her empty apartment forcing herself to eat lunch, it was a bit depressing to see how many people who could have lived if she hadn't been so foolish. The knowledge that William Vaughn's death had never been directly her fault was only a small consolation. One time she remembered Vaughn telling her that no one was harder on herself than she was, Sydney knew that to be true, leaving her to wonder how her Vaughn was handling the world now, presumably two years past her death.  
  
Briefly she toyed with the idea that he'd moved on, perhaps even married as this Vaughn had apparently done. Except Sydney couldn't reconcile the fact that while two years was enough time to take her world off of it's axis, it didn't feel like long enough for him to move past them, to have so fully progressed past her that he was married. He'd spent over a year waiting for her, casually seeing Alice. In no world could she imagine him moving on so fast.  
  
No matter how much she missed him, there was little time to dwell on him, a man she couldn't imagine not loving but didn't know if she'd ever see again. There was work to be done now, she knew there were plenty of challenges ahead of her as she took her first steps into the Joint Task Force Headquarters. Jack's instructions had been precise, leading her to the exact spot she remembered. Sydney wasn't sure whether she was relieved or disappointed that it didn't look all that different from what it had been two years and another world before. Nothing had changed, except the nearly tangible joy she'd felt the first time she walked thru the front door with Vaughn following the Alliance's destruction seemed to be a hazy product of her imagination.   
  
As she took her first steps into the JTF, she was relieved to spot Weiss, leaning casually against the area he'd always worked in. To her delight, Marshall stood nearby, obviously rambling along as Weiss and Carrie tried their best to follow. Sydney easily hid her smile as she approached Weiss, prepared to be introduced to her former friends.  
  
"Hey," she smiled.  
  
Weiss looked up and grinned, "Hey Sydney. How are you doing?"   
  
"I'm good," she assured him, crossing her arms as she glanced at Marshall and Carrie, silently waiting for introduction.  
  
"Sorry," Weiss chuckled. "Sydney Bristow, this is my best friend Marshall Flinkman, and his wife Carrie Bowman. Marshall's our resident tech genius. Carrie's NSA but she works with us."   
  
"It's nice to meet you both," Sydney smiled and shook their hands.  
  
"It's good to see you Ms. Bristow - " Marshall started, clearly sweating.  
  
"Sydney," she corrected.  
  
"Sydney . . . I'm so sorry to hear about your death. I mean your disappearance, I know that -"  
  
"Marshall," Carrie groaned.  
  
He glanced at his wife and then back to Sydney, "Well, it's good to have you here finally. I'm working on a CD for you, it's the most popular songs from the last two years. Not my type of music, if you know what I mean, but it might help you remember -"  
  
"Thank you," Sydney smiled.  
  
"Did the clothes fit?" Carrie questioned as Sydney looked at her, clearly confused. "The clothes, at the hospital. Eric asked me to pick you up some things. We had your sizes, but I wasn't sure what you would like -"  
  
"They were great," she assured her, instantly relieved that it wasn't Vaughn's wife who had done her shopping. "Thank you."  
  
Before Carrie could respond, a familiar figure breezed by, stopping abruptly at Sydney's side. "Ms. Bristow, just the agent I was looking for."  
  
Next to her, Sydney could hear Weiss stifle his groan, "Sir, this is Sydney Bristow. Sydney, this is Director Kendall from the FBI. He's in charge of the joint operation, along with your father."  
  
"It's good to see that you're doing well Ms. Bristow," he shook her hand. "Your father told us we should be expecting you. You'll be joinung us for our briefing, I assume?"  
  
"Yes sir," she replied as Kendall turned and began back towards the conference room. As she turned around, Sydney caught Marshall fidgeting and Weiss roll his eyes as they walked into the room.   
  
"Agent Bristow, I assume have met Agent Vaughn?" Kendall questioned, standing in his traditional spot at the head of the table. Sydney watched her friends take their regular seats as Kendall silently nodded for her to take the seat next to Vaughn, across from where her father sat with Weiss. Once everyone was seated, Kendall pressed a button as a picture of an all too familiar face appeared at the front of the room and in their individual screens. "Sydney, this is Julian Sark. He's been a thorn in our side for years now, first working for an organization called the Alliance and now for the Covenant, the very group we believe to behind your abduction."   
  
"Why would the Covenant want me?"  
  
Kendall sighed and sat down, pressing another button as a painfully familiar sketch appeared on the screens. "Agent Bristow, this picture was drawn by a fifteenth century architect by the name of Milo Rambaldi. He's believed by many to be a prophet, predicting world events of great importance. Among the things he alludes to, he claims that the woman depicted here would bear certain marks. This woman is greatly tied to Rambaldi's works but also, according the prophecy, has the power to bring destruction to the greatest power. We believe this woman is you.  
  
"As interested as we are in Rambaldi and his works, the Covenant is fanatical. Consider them the same type of people who are blindly devoted to a religion or cult, similar to the Jonestown cult. Rambaldi left behind forty-seven artifacts, some of which we have and, at times, have had to race against Covenant agents to acquire. At one point, around the time you disappeared, the artifacts in this task force's possession were stolen. We suspected a mole on the inside, helping them acquire the artifacts. By having you in their custody, the woman depicted in the drawing, they had everything they needed to achieve Rambaldi's prophecy."  
  
"Luckily," Jack started, "whatever the Covenant did had no impact on your health."  
  
"Unfortunately, that also leaves us with no evidence to indicate where you've been or what you've done while in the Covenant's custody," Kendall pointed out.   
  
"In the years since your disappearance, we managed to acquire back eleven of the twenty-five artifacts we had when you disappeared," Weiss added.  
  
"What happened to the mole?" Sydney questioned.  
  
Kendall sighed, "We were never able to pinpoint who was the exact cause of the leak, or even that we had a leak. However, all of our suspects no longer work for us."   
  
"What does this have to do with Sark?" she asked, only slightly amused to find out that he did, in fact, have a first name.  
  
"He's a low-level member of the Covenant. His father was Russian royalty and his inheritance helped fund the Covenant's activities. Currently we believe Sark is seeking a higher position within the organization. We have intel indicating that the Covenant is sending him Munich to prove his loyalty and his worth."  
  
"What is Sark looking for in Germany?" Vaughn asked.  
  
"We don't know the purpose of the meeting, Agent Vaughn, or even who he's meeting," Kendall explained. "That's why we're sending you and Agent Bristow to find out," he explained, sliding their mission folders down to them. "You're going to surveil Mr. Sark's meeting. Bring back anything that may be relevant to the operation of the Covenant or Rambaldi. The meeting is scheduled for tomorrow evening. You two will leave tonight. See Marshall for your op tech. That's all," he dismissed, starting for the room.  
  
Sydney slowly stood as her father called her name. "Stay for a moment," he requested as she sank back to her seat, the rest of the group leaving the room. Once they were alone, Jack turned on her a glare that was all too familiar. "You went to Zurich."  
  
"Dad -"  
  
"Sydney . . . To have you travel overseas right now without it being an authorized mission from the CIA is a risk we can't take now. Yes, Switzerland is a neutral country but it's irresponsible to imagine that it's without a Covenant cell or Covenant loyalists and informants. People who would just as gladly have you back in their possession or dead to meet their own needs. You are an intelligent woman Sydney. In training you proved you'd be a responsible agent, I don't understand why you'd do something so foolish that would not only jeopardize your life but could jeopardize your standing in the CIA -"  
  
"There was someone I had to see. Someone I needed answers from."  
  
"What did you possibly need from Arvin Sloane?"   
  
"How -"  
  
"He called me. We're old friends Sydney. He is an informant to the CIA. Due to his former connections, he has been able to give the CIA information regarding the Covenant and its operations. If you felt you needed to speak to him, you could have come to me, we could have done it through proper CIA channels. What did you have to ask him?"  
  
"Dad, I can't -"  
  
"Don't do it again Sydney," Jack warned, the edge back in his voice. "This is not the time to be leaving the country without the CIA's authorization or back up. Not when it could jeopardize half a dozen covert operations, not to mention your own life!" he scolded, his voice briefly raised. "You're new here Sydney. You need to remember that. No one doubts your qualifications, but you lack the experience, especially to make such a rash decision. Don't do it again Sydney or I'll be forced to see to it that your field grade is inactive until a time when you're able to make better decisions," he snapped. Then he dropped his head, his focus once again on his work as he spoke, "Go see Marshall to cover the op tech then go home and pack," he advised. Just a second before she stepped foot outside of the room, he called her name again. Sydney turned around, expecting the worse, instead seeing his face briefly slip out of its blank mask. "Good luck Sydney," he wished her with a slight nod as she slipped out.  
  
Marshall's op tech was, as always, incredible. Vaughn had already left when she arrived from her brief meeting with her father. In Munich she would be posing as a hostess at the restaurant where the meeting was scheduled to take place. She was to set up a bug in the private meeting room where Sark would be meeting. While she was on point, Vaughn would be on coms, keeping tabs on the meeting and in contact with her while she worked in the restaurant's public room. This seemed to be a relatively benign compared to the countless other missions where she'd been point. However, given her experience with Sark, she was more than prepared for something to go awry.  
  
Sydney met Vaughn at the airfield, their cars pulling up within moments of each other. Quietly they boarded the charter plane, their carry on's loaded overhead as they slipped into seats. Sitting across from her he appeared to pull out a book as she took out the mission ops, intending to be fully prepared for her first time out in the field. As she read, she felt Vaughn glance up a few times, silently studying her.  
  
"You're going to be excellent," Vaughn said, breaking the silence they'd shared since take off. Sydney glanced up, confused as he continued. "In the field. This is your first time," he glanced down at his book, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.   
  
"I'm going to fine," she smiled, appreciating his attempts to soothe her nerves, so true to the man she'd once known.  
  
"You will be," he insisted. Quieter, his eyes still dwelling on his book, he added, "It's just hard for me to imagine you without field experience," he conceded. When he looked back up, Sydney's face was twisted in confusion as he quickly clarified, "In Hong Kong, you were incredible. What I read, about how you did in training . . .Your work caught the attention of a lot of people before you disappeared. You were one of many qualified trainees but you stood out. Somehow you managed to excell at every level necessary to be successful in the field. I remember thinking that whoever she ends up working with will be incredibly lucky to have her as a partner," he explained. Her face was bent down, her mind working to absorb his compliments as she struggled to find the words to correct the unfair treatment she'd given him.   
  
"I am sorry about Hong Kong Vaughn. I was -"  
  
"No, Syd, I know. You were scared," he spoke quietly, so softly she nearly had to lean over to make out his words. The sound of the single syllable, once the only thing she could imagine Vaughn addressing her by, left her soul briefly hopeful. His heartfelt attempt to fix what he saw her struggle with, and the casual way Syd slipped through his lips for only a moment put her world back on the axis she'd once known. "You were scared Sydney, and you did the right thing. You don't have to be so hard on yourself."  
  
Sydney studied his expression, his silent determination to convince her that she had done nothing wrong. For a moment her gut twisted, missing the man she silently referred to as her Vaughn, more than ever. If the CIA's approach to her wasn't enough reminder of the two years and the life she'd lost, his wedding ring certainly was.  
  
"Thank you," she said as he nodded. "It was nice meeting your father. I didn't know he worked at the agency," Sydney added. She'd known he had worked for the agency, but in her time back she hadn't taken the opportunity to connect the obvious dots.  
  
"Yeah. He was promoted to director a few years ago. He was one of the directors who tracked your progress and tasked you to train with Eric," Vaughn recalled. "Maybe as a favor for your father, I don't know, but I remember he was the agency representative at your funeral," his voice dropped along with his eyes. A moment later Vaughn looked at her again, a vulnerable expression still on his face. "He was the reason I joined. I always wanted to be like him, from the time I was a kid . . ."   
  
"It must be nice, being able to work with him."  
  
"It can be," he agreed, his eyes glassed over and no longer focused on hers. "We're not the same type of agent. Not that I don't respect him. I had no idea how much he'd really accomplished until I joined the agency. He's an incredible agent Sydney . . . A company guy. I love him very much, but I don't know if I'll ever be that by the books."   
  
Sydney looked up at him, a single phrase ringing in her mind, "A company man?" she quietly repeated.  
  
Vaughn met her eyes and nodded, "Yeah," he agreed.   
  
"You're lucky to have him . . . To be able to work with him."  
  
"I am," he nodded. "Your father came back to the agency for you."  
  
"He didn't have to," she sighed, ducking her head.  
  
"You were dead and then you came back Sydney. Whether Jack admits to having them, you can't disregard his feelings of guilt for his involvement. We get involved in these lives . . . We give up any real hope of normal lives to do this job, but there's a line and it got crossed when the Covenant involved you. They made it personal. I've read your father's file Sydney, I've had the opportunity to hear about his work and have spoken to people who have worked with him. There's not much I agree with him on Sydney, but he was right to come back."  
  
"He doesn't think I can do it."  
  
"He does think you can do it," Vaughn instantly corrected. Sydney looked at him, wondering what compelled him to defend a man he hardly knew. "Jack recruited you Sydney. Fought to convince you to give up what you always thought you wanted to do because . . . Because he had an instinct," he quietly suggested. "It's not every day that you get an instinct like that. The only thing that concerns him is your safety, which would concern him whether you were a field agent or still a teacher."  
  
"I was," she smiled. "A teacher. High school English," she explained, wishing she had some memories of the experience.  
  
"I know," he nodded.   
  
"I could have gone back . . . I probably should have," Sydney mused. "It's what my father wanted. He recruited me before any of this happened. Now that it has . . . " she hesitated, feeling his eyes on her as she glanced around. "My mother hasn't said anything, which speaks volumes," she pointed out softly. The Laura of her childhood had always been a devoted, loving mother and wife, but she had never been one to hesitate when it came to voicing her opinions. Jack was the man of the family, but there was no room for doubt who was in charge. Except her mother's silence spoke more of her concern than any amount of words ever could.  
  
"No matter what your coworkers think, there are moments when working with your father can be more of a curse than a blessing," Vaughn pointed out. "Especially when your father's an accomplished agent," he added. "The only way to prove to him, to those around you - to yourself Sydney - is to go out there and do it. To show that you're not here *because* Jack is and you certainly aren't staying because of that. Prove to your father that yes, you were an English teacher, but now this is what you do. It's your decision to be here, and you're capable of doing what the agency needs you to do."  
  
"I want something big," she conceded. While working with SD-6 and subsequently the CIA, she'd been tasked with some of the most crucial ops that any agent could imagine. Now she was starting back from the bottom again, having no record to fall back.   
  
"You're gathering information Sydney. That's where any advanced operation starts, with getting the intel to try to cut off the Covenant."  
  
"I know this is where I start," she agreed, remembering the handful of scutwork missions SD-6 had sent her on in the beginning. She'd been so far beyond that level of skill when she joined the CIA, and her role in the Alliance so precarious that she'd never considered starting again from the beginning. Yet thanks to Arvin Sloane it was just what she was doing. "I just don't want to be stuck doing this for too long. I want to do something valuable."  
  
A trace of a smile lingered on his face, "You will," he promised. Sydney sat back and smiled at him before she returned her attention to covering the mission intel.  
  
Sark's meeting with an unnamed associate was to be held in an upscale, historic Munich restaurant. While she was left with the task of hostess in the main dining hall, it was easy to slip into the reserved room. Marshall had hacked into the restaurant's computer system and Sydney was posing as a waitress filling in for her friend. Thanks to her flawless German, it wasn't a problem, and she slipped the miniscule listening device into a vase in the dining room. With a quick check into her ear to insure that she had Vaughn on coms and that the bug was activated and working correctly she reported to the main dining room.  
  
Of her many childhood career ambitions, she doubted restaurant hostess was ever one. Whether it was the actual job or how useless she felt towards the mission as she worked, Sydney was never sure. The mission was going well, if not a bit too boring for Sydney's taste. Periodically she would hear Vaughn in her ear, updating her. No real information was passed, just enough to let her know that things were proceeding as planned. With the way the restaurant was set up, she hadn't even had the opportunity to see Sark or whoever he may have been meeting, although she was curious to see what reaction, if any, he would have if he saw her.   
  
"Syd?" Vaughn's voice filtered through her ear nearly three hours after they first arrived and roughly ninety minutes past Sark's meeting time. Even without her years with him in another life, Sydney would have recognized the urgency in his voice. During the course of the evening she'd listened to him through the comm link. Sometimes, as she stood surveying the dining hall, she'd listen to the nearly undetectible sound of his breathing. Or he'd make an occasional joke in her ear, his own brand of humor and commentary on anything from what Sark and his associate were wearing to table manners. After insuring that the guest she was speaking to was settled in, she excused herself to the employee restroom.  
  
"Vaughn?"  
  
"According to the specs of the restaurant, there's a door to your left in the hallway leading to the employee-only rooms. It leads to a basement. There's going to be a suitcase under the staircase. Whatever it is, it's what Sark came to get."  
  
"I'm going," she declared, already stepping out of the restroom.  
  
"Sydney, you've only got a few minutes."  
  
"Let me know when he's on the move," she said, walking out of the employee restroom. With a quick glance to insure that no one in the main dining room had noticed her absence, she nonchalantly approached the basement door. She made quick work of picking the lock and entered. The flight of stairs was short, the stench of time and dust as she made her way down the stairs.   
  
The basement was filled with boxes and cartons, nothing seemingly out of the ordinary except for the two men pacing the room. "Miss, can we help you with anything?" one of the men asked, catching a glimpse of her as she stood at the staircase landing.  
  
She caught a glimpse of a door leading to the wine cellar and gave the two men an innocent smile. "I was sent down here for some wine," she explained.   
  
"Go ahead," the other man grinned, his eyes running over her body as she felt the tiniest of hairs on her arms raise.   
  
Scanning the room, Sydney's eyes quickly landed on the suitcase in question. After a few necessary steps in the direction of the wine cellar, she felt the one of the men nearby. Taking only a moment to prepare herself, she tossed an elbow back and heard one of the men hiss in pain. Swiftly she turned around, the other man protesting, approaching and reaching for his walkie talkie. Before he had the object in his hand, she forced him to the ground with a roundhouse kick. Thanks to years of experience, Sydney felt the other man behind her. Without a thought she faced him, using the other man's walkie talkie to deliver a blow to his head, sufficent enough to knock him out without killing him. Now able to complete her task, she knelt down and examined the suitcase's lock system. For a moment she studied the system before she spoke through her comm, "Vaughn, I've got it but I won't be able to open it here."  
  
"Just grab it. I'll meet you in the alley in five minutes."  
  
"Okay," she agreed, wishing Marshall had provided her with the necessary equipment to open the suitcase while wondering what it was that Sark wanted so badly - or whose dirty work he'd been sent to accomplish.  
  
Having already dealt with the two men who'd been tasked to guard the package, getting away from the restaurant was easy. A few minutes later she was waiting for Vaughn in the designated alley, two blocks from the meeting place. The car jolted to a quick stop in front of her as he leaned over and popped the door open, hitting the gas as she slammed the door. "You got it?" he asked rhetorically.  
  
"What is in it Vaughn? Who was Sark meeting?"  
  
"They didn't say what it was, but it's something the Covenant wants. Sark was meeting with the cousin of the restaurant's owner. Whatever's in that suitcase, it was taken from the Covenant and they've been trying to get a hold of it for months."  
  
"It could have something to do with me, with my missing time."  
  
"It might," he agreed. "They said it was something to do with Rambaldi, and the Covenant paid the man a significant amount of cash for whatever it is."  
  
"Sark's not going to be happy when it's not there. He'll think that the Covenant's being played."  
  
Vaughn glanced at her as they neared the airstrip waiting to take them home, "We're not the only agency after the Covenant Sydney, they won't necessarily know it was us."  
  
"I didn't see him. Sark, I mean . . . I thought I might. I know it was stupid. If he saw me and recognized me, it could have jeopardized the entire mission, but I just wondered . . . I wondered if he'd even react to me, recognize me from the past two years . . ."  
  
"We can't risk your exposure Sydney, not when the Covenant could still be pursuing you."  
  
"I know," she sighed, looking out the window.  
  
Vaughn approached the airstrip and stole a few quick looks in her direction, wondering what to say to this woman. This was a purgatory of uncertainty that she lived in, one that she certainly didn't deserve nor had she brought upon herself. "Sydney?" he questioned, drawing her out of thoughts as the car stopped.   
  
She wanted to ask him was when it would stop, but it was an answer no one could provide. When would the ride end so she could get off and establish some roots? Even in this world, where everything she thought she ever wanted was gloriously handed to her, nothing was that simple. Just as she'd wanted to step off of the merry-go-round, Sloane had flicked a switch and pushed the ride into even bumpier turbulence. "We should go," she glanced at him as she unbuckled her belt. "We need Marshall to look at this," she reminded him. Vaughn nodded as the duo got out of the car and boarded the plane.  
  
A fourteen hour flight later, Sydney sat at her desk. Out of the corner of her eyes she caught sight of Vaughn re-entering the JTF, strolling with Weiss. They'd been back in L.A. less than two hours, neither had even had a chance to go home and change, both opting to stick around and find out what was in the suitcase. During the ride back they hadn't said much, each working on their respective reports before she struggled to gain a few hours of restless sleep. When she finally gave in to her insomnia, she sat up and found that he'd fallen sound asleep. As much as she longed for the company, someone to talk to, she refused to disturb his peace.  
  
Sydney remained at her desk as she watched them for a moment, the JTF as close to abandoned as it ever became. What struck her most was how he didn't look a bit different, how not even two years could really change his appearance. Even if it had, she couldn't help but hope that she'd know Vaughn, that something in her would always recognize him. As if suddenly feeling her eyes, Vaughn looked up, his green eyes instantly finding hers as they shared a brief smile.   
  
"Marshall's ready," Kendall announced to no one in particular, storming through the JTF as the appropriate agents followed him towards the room.  
  
Sydney heard Weiss question Vaughn as she approached, "What do you think it is?"  
  
"I don't know," he shook his head, holding the door to the briefing room open for Sydney as they all took their seats. Only a moment later, Marshall entered the room, cautiously carrying an object that she could never forget, if only for the particularly nasty fight she'd had with Anna Espinoza to get possession of the piece's most crucial part.  
  
"What is it?" Weiss asked as Marshall gently placed it on the table.  
  
"It's a clock," Marshall smiled, obviously excited as he stood in front of the group.  
  
"I'm assuming that it must have some other function other than a clock if the Covenant is after it," Jack commented dryly.  
  
"This clock was designed by Giovanni Donato but was commissioned by Milo Rambaldi. Which, really, considering the guy's contemporaries, it's pretty genius," Marshall buzzed, barely skipping a beat when his coworkers didn't share his enthusiasm. "Donato was the only person Rambaldi ever collaborated with. And check this out," he stopped to point to a familiar symbol.   
  
The group leaned forward in their seats to examine the tiny engraving, "what is that?" Vaughn softly inquired.  
  
"That stands for the Magnificent Order of Rambaldi. Now the clock is working fine now, but watch this," he stopped. The group watched as Marshall set the clock and it stopped.  
  
"What did you do?" Weiss asked.  
  
"I set it to 12:22 and 1/2. When it's set then, it stops. I know you all wonder why, but I'm not quite sure yet," he conceded anxiously. "However," he slid the familiar golden sun out of its place and held it up for them all to inspect. "When you look at this, you can see a star chart. The great thing about a star chart is that it's a picture of the sky that captures only one single moment in time, that's it. Anything before or after and bam, your out of luck," he chuckled as Sydney looked down and shook her head. Exhaustion did little to take away how endearing she viewed Marshall's nervous humor to be.   
  
"The point?" Kendall questioned testily.  
  
"The point," Marshall swallowed hard and fidgeted with is hands. "The point is that we can assume that the star chart refers to the date here," he explained, turning the clock around and motioning to a date on the back. "August 16th, 1523 at 12:22AM Greenwich Mean Time. The great thing is that we already know that it's the only spot on earth with the exact view of the stars is on the Chile/Argentina border," Marshall explained, picking up a remote as a map flipped onto their individual screens. "The southern slope of Mt. Aconcagua."   
  
"How do we know this?" Sydney asked. As eager as she was to get on with her life and certainly her career in the CIA, the idea of going back to Mt. Aconcagua held little appeal. Images of Dixon shot and barely clinging to life and contacting the CIA, revealing her codename to her ailing partner in a desperate attempt to save his life. None of it had been in vain, but seeing Dixon, one of the strongest men she'd ever known, shot and in pain was something that still haunted her. All because of some book that eventually led the CIA to take her into custody. There were days when Sydney hadn't been certain that the mission, for all the complications it had brought into her life, had been worth it.   
  
"We had intel on the clock a few years ago, without having the actual artifact. Various sources indicated . . . Without the actual artifact, we were able to find the Rambaldi manuscript before anyone else was," Jack explained.  
  
"Barely," Weiss muttered.  
  
At Sydney's confused expression, Jack met her eyes and explained, "I was shot Sydney. I was sent on a team to intercept the book and was shot." She felt her blood go cold as she momentarily shut her eyes, the parallels uncanny.   
  
"Luckily we were able to maintain possession of the manuscript," Kendall pointed out. "And now we have the clock, and the Covenant doesn't," he sighed and pulled out of his chair. "Agent Bristow, Agent Vaughn, go home. I don't expect you back here until tomorrow. The rest of you, get back to work," he ordered as he walked out of the room.   
  
Sydney sat in silence, staring at the clock as Marshall and Weiss shared an animated conversation. Questions raced through her head. Sloane had to have had the clock, she was sure of it, and now there was no doubt in her mind that he was involved in the Covenant. The only question remained was why he would part with is beloved artifacts, part with them enough to have to buy them back.   
  
"Sydney?" She looked up to find Vaughn standing over her, the room empty. "Are you okay?"   
  
"Someone had to own the clock once . . . Someone who lived and breathed Rambaldi. Why give it up?"   
  
"I would guess a Rambaldi artifact goes for a pretty high bid on the black market. Maybe they needed the money?"  
  
"No," she sighed and slowly stood. "It has to be more than that."  
  
"I wouldn't worry about it, not right now," he grinned easily at her. "I'm going home. You should do the same," he suggested as he approached the door. "Do you need a ride?"  
  
Sydney glanced at him from where she stood, organizing her files, and shook her head. Before he could step out of the room, she called his name as he met her eyes. "Thank you," she spoke softly. Without a word Vaughn smiled and nodded before walking out. 


	7. Chapter 6

Between the Memory & the Moment  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele  
  
E-mail: loveuconnbasketball@yahoo.com  
  
~*Chapter 6*~  
  
Sydney had learned the painful way that there was more to establishing a life than buying furniture and clothes and getting a decent apartment. Francie and Will were together now, and the last thing she wanted to do was disturb them. Danny had offered her his shoulder, but she doubted Lucy, no matter how nice, would enjoy her husband getting out of bed at two in the morning to go see his ex-girlfriend. With a sense of dejection, she realized the same went for Vaughn, although he had even less of a reason to talk to her than Danny did. Yes, there were her parents, perhaps even Weiss, but none of them could fully appreciate where she was coming from, and there was certainly no one she trusted well enough to tell the absolute truth to.  
  
They'd been back from Munich for a handful of days, and while Marshall was eagerly working on a rare Rambaldi artifact. While he was deciphering the clock in person, no one could be certain why the Covenant had to buy it back in the first place. Nor did anyone seem any closer to deciphering the mystery of Rambaldi. The matter seemed trivial to Sydney, compared to the confirmation to her instinct that Sloane was indeed behind the Covenant. His words had echoed in her head since she'd left Rome, but now they kept her awake, her mind struggling to make up for anything he might have missed so she could finally end up a step ahead of him in his own game.  
  
She sat among her coworkers in the conference room late Friday afternoon, waiting for an unusually late Kendall to arrive. Marshall, Carrie, and Weiss sat across from her, and the tech wizard bumbling over with what he'd managed to learn about the clock and Rambaldi while confessing to the multitude of questions he still had. His babble ended the moment the director strode in, walking directly to the front of the room.  
  
"Good news," he explained as they all looked at him. "We've managed to get in contact with a former CIA operative, a man well versed in all things Rambaldi," Kendall spoke. Meanwhile his assistant had entered the room and handed out dossiers to each agent before quickly exiting.   
  
"Arvin Sloane," Sydney spoke softly, having open the dossier and staring back at the black and white picture in front of her. She felt her stomach drop, only vaguely aware that Vaughn's eyes had instantly turned to her.   
  
"What do we know about this guy?" Weiss inquired.   
  
"For a number of years he's lived in Zurich, CEO of an international company that deals with appraising artifacts and antiques. Sloane worked with Jack on a number of older cases that tied back to Rambaldi, before we were aware of the full scope of Rambaldi's work," Kendall explained.  
  
"Rambaldi always fascinated Sloane, from the time we first encountered him. If there is anyone we can turn to who can anticipate the Covenant's next strategy, it's Sloane," Jack added.   
  
"Why have we had such difficulty reaching him? Where has he been?" Vaughn asked, an edge almost obvious in his voice.  
  
"Sloane was out of the country on business. Formerly, he had ties with various operatives who are now high level in the Covenant. He's arriving Monday morning. Marshall, you'll speak to him about the clock, try to gain an insight into how it fits into the puzzle, and why the hell the Covenant had to buy back their own device -"  
  
Sydney cut Kendall off, unable to stay completely silent despite knowing she no longer had the leeway she once did. "Do we know that the Covenant was actually buying back the clock? Is there any way to confirm that it wasn't all a set up, that the Covenant wasn't trying to lure us or any number of other organizations, that maybe they *wanted* us to have the clock?" she inquired, barely reeling herself in before she could assert her distrust of Sloane.  
  
"Nothings out of the question Sydney, but right now we proceed forward with the intel we have," Jack spoke.   
  
"That's all people. Sloane will be joining us for our briefing Monday morning," Kendall reminded them before he left the room. Slowly she stood, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught her father's shadow as he approached her. "Sydney -"  
  
"I'm fine dad," she dismissed him. Vaughn stood just a few feet away, collecting his own files as Marshall, Carrie and Weiss were easily wrapped up in their own conversation.  
  
"Your mother asked me to invite you to Sunday dinner," he explained, a slight irritation underlying his tone. Sydney turned to face him and nodded.  
  
"I'll be there. Six?" she questioned as Jack nodded.   
  
"We'll see you then," her father agreed before he walked away. As he left her there, she looked over and caught Vaughn's concerned eyes. The look in his eyes was one she'd seen plenty of times before, but knowing the man was barely more than a stranger didn't bring his kind glance once had. With a half-hearted attempt at a smile, she nodded in his direction and went through the doors, her mind already back to deciphering Sloane's end game.  
  
Saturday morning Sydney invited Will and Francie over for breakfast. The couple had arrived in pajamas and the three of them settled into the living room, watching cartoons while eating cereal. They laughed and talked, and she found herself realizing how much she'd missed their simple friendship. When reflecting on it, it was obvious things had shifted when Allison stepped in to their lives as Francie. At the time she'd credited it to Francie's new romantic relationship with Will, but she now realized her error. Will and Francie were obviously on the cusp of something wonderful, and very little had changed among their small group. As she closed the door behind them early in the afternoon and prepared to spend the rest of the day alone, Sydney couldn't help but wish Vaughn were there to share it with her.  
  
A few afternoon hours passed, watching television and doing various apartment chores. Sydney was just sinking down onto the sofa with a good book in her lap and a pint of Ben & Jerry's in her hand, when a strange noise echoed through the room. After a moment, she recognized it to be her pager, having been set on vibrate, as it bounced against her kitchen table. Unable to hide her annoyance, she put the ice cream back in the freezer and snapped the offensive object from the table. She glanced at the page, her anger instantly draining. Instead Sydney grabbed a sweater and headed out the door, uncertain of what was ahead of her.  
  
For a weekend afternoon in the latter days of fall, the ice rink was nearly empty as she stepped in. Sydney's eyes scanned the rink, wondering why he'd summoned her there. Their last clandestine meeting was literally a lifetime ago, and she waited with apprehension and a bit of a nostalgia. Clandestine meetings hadn't held the appeal that being together freely had, but it was the earliest meetings that cemented who they were. A time before she knew of her mother's betrayal, the earliest days when she truly believed she could take down SD-6 in a matter of weeks, all progressing to the meetings where it was clear that the only thing keeping them apart was the Alliance. She pushed back her memories and continued to look for him.   
  
After searching for a few moments, she realized he had yet to arrive, instead only a small group of young men were playing on the vast sheet of ice.   
  
She stood, watching the men play their laid back, friendly game of ice hockey as she waited. Five minutes dripped into fifteen and she was beginning to contemplate calling his cell phone when she felt him. There was little comfort in feeling his presence now. This was a man she hardly knew, not the man who's warm arms had always been her solace. In another world, with the Vaughn she'd known and loved, it had been acceptable and comforting to be able to sense his presence. Now it only served as a reminder to what was no longer hers, and how very empty this new life could be.  
  
"Sorry," he sighed, running his hand through his hair. Out of the corner of her eye Sydney glanced at him, looking more rumpled than he usually did in his casual attire. "Were you waiting long?"   
  
"A few minutes," she answered, allowing a half smile to slide briefly onto her face. "What did you want to talk about?"  
  
Vaughn looked at her for a few seconds, clearly confused before he shook his head. Then he brought his hand back up, massaging his temples as he began to talk. "The other day, in the debriefing. When Kendall said that Arvin Sloane was coming to consult about Rambaldi . . . You looked surprised. Upset, even. You looked like there was more you wanted to say to Kendall."  
  
"I was surprised," Sydney admitted.   
  
"Do you want to talk about it?"   
  
She met his eyes, wondering how it was possible to love him even more for his simple concern for a new coworker. For taking the time to notice, to seek her out from beyond the workplace walls to help her. Then her eyes glanced back at the rink as she commented, "I don't trust him."  
  
"Sydney -"   
  
"I know I'm new Vaughn," she agreed, turning back to look in his direction. For a moment she considered how unwise it was to admit her doubts to him, to the man who's allegiances were clearly with the CIA as opposed to her. Except Sydney had to tell someone, had to confess just a bit of her burdens. Considering all the seemingly new personalities she had encountered since she woke up in Hong Kong, Vaughn was still her best option, still the man she trusted implicitly. "I've read some of the files Vaughn, and my father's told me about what he's done . . . I just can't trust him. My instincts won't let me."   
  
"I'm not entirely convinced that it's just a coincidence that he's helped us acquire several Rambaldi artifacts and information on the Covenant and various other terror organizations," he quietly returned.   
  
"He's playing both sides of the table," Sydney whispered, more to herself than to him.   
  
"Wouldn't be the first time," Vaughn muttered as she glanced quickly at him. His head was tipped down and his eyes slid shut, the expression on his face unreadable.   
  
"Vaughn -"  
  
"You should say something to Kendall," he continued, running his fingers through his hair.   
  
"What? That I have an instinct? I also have a career at the CIA that's about a week old Vaughn, that doesn't help my credibility."  
  
"I don't know," he groaned, shutting his eyes and once again massaging his temples. "Just . . . Something needs to be done before Sloane is allowed to do something that can't be fixed."   
  
Sydney grimaced and looked back to the ice, clearly recalling a lifetime's worth of damage that an eternity of reparations couldn't cancel out. "I don't know what to do," she admitted. Yet another reason to disdain Sloane. Not only for the doubts and fears he'd always put in her mind, but how he'd compromised her position in the CIA. By starting back at the bottom, with barely a recollection of what people were talking about the majority of the time, she had to proceed with the utmost caution. One shred of evidence that something wasn't entirely right and the agency wouldn't hesitate to remove her from her own case, preventing her from any hope of finding the truth.   
  
"I'm sorry to have called you out here on a weekend only to make you wait," Vaughn spoke.   
  
"I was starting to worry I'd somehow gone to the wrong place," she added. Except she hadn't, not really. Sydney remembered how he'd loved it there. He would tell her how it was the rink where his father taught him the fundamentals of hockey, the place where his mother would drop him off a few times a week to practice as kid, even when it was the off season.   
  
The two of them had been there only once, usually going to another, larger rink in different part of town. They'd gone to that particular rink in the early hours of the morning after Diane Dixon's death. After filling out the necessary paperwork and doing what they could at the CIA and to help Dixon, they had gotten into the car and begun to drive. With no destination and neither able to sleep, they just drove. Eventually they'd arrived there. Sydney had been surprised it was open, and more surprised when they walked in to find kids, barely teenagers, practicing hockey and skating a few hours before the school day began.  
  
They'd stood in nearly that same spot, cradling styrofoam cups of caffeine. Somehow watching the children on the ice, so innocent and excited about what they were doing, caused conversation to turn to Robyn and Steven. Having both lost a parent at a young age, they spoke for awhile about what the youngest Dixons would be going through, how they would cope without Diane. It was also the one and only time they mentioned children. Vaughn was the first one to bring it up, quietly stating that he couldn't imagine how he'd raise *their* children if she wasn't there with him. She'd echoed the sentiment, holding his hand in hers. At the time it had been an implication of a once certain future, words she had clung to.   
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Vaughn again began to massage his temples, his shoulders tense and his eyebrows a clear sign he was aggravated. "Did you have a fight with your wife?"   
  
The instant the words were out, she hated herself for it. Sydney hated how the words popped out while she thought of *their* children. Beautiful, blonde, brown eyed children with dimples, who were skating by three, came home from the hospital as newborns in Los Angeles Kings onesies and went on vacation to Santa Barbara every summer. Most especially, however, she was struck by the familiarity of the situation. Except that was another world ago, a meeting at a car wash between a clandestine agent and her handler, and Alice had certainly never been his wife. Although Sydney had certainly wondered if she was in the days since she woke up in Hong Kong.   
  
"What?" he turned to fully face her, his expression etched with lines of confusion.   
  
"Your wife," she repeated, loathing the term and how it held no ties to her. "Did you have a fight? Is that why you were late? Because really Vaughn, you could have just called and told me not to -"  
  
"No," he stopped her, shaking his head. "I didn't have a fight with my wife," he sighed and looked back at the ice. This time he slid his hands into his pockets and continued. Vaughn's voice was low and raspy, leaving her to struggle to make out his words over the sound of the men playing hockey. "I haven't had a fight with my wife in a long time," he realized as he looked back at her. "I'm a widower."  
  
"Vaughn," she felt her eyes slid shut. Instead now she hated herself as she looked back at him, wondering what to do to amend her mistake. "I'm sorry, I didn't know -"  
  
"There's no way you could have," he assured her. "I've only been back a few weeks, which is why Weiss and my father constantly seem to be looking over my shoulder," he explained. "Their behavior Sydney, I don't want you to think that it's because they don't trust you as an agent. It has absolutely nothing to do with you - it's me they're concerned about."  
  
"I understand," Sydney managed to speak, fighting back the instinctive urge to cry. To imagine what Vaughn had suffered, to plan on a forever and lose someone was something she had experience with. Especially if he'd loved his wife like she'd loved her Vaughn. The pain was so all consuming, driving her to the point of near numbness at times, that she wouldn't wish it upon her worse enemy. Except perhaps Sloane.  
  
Still, it gave her hope. In a place that she thought would remain dead since she woke up in this world, there was hope. This man was not her Vaughn, and there were no guarantees and she refused to have too many expectations. The seed of hope had been planted though, the possibility that he was as alone as she was and perhaps didn't want to be alone anymore.   
  
"I guess you can relate, in a way," he mused. She looked at him and wondered if it was possible that he'd found the ability to read her mind or just had an uncanny knack for reading people. "You were with someone. When you were . . . Abducted," he carefully chose his words. There was no one word to tactfully sum up how she'd experienced the last two years, and Sydney decided that abducted was as kind of a term as any. "It was in your file," he explained. "You can talk about it, if you'd like -"  
  
"Vaughn," she shook her head, feeling the tears start as she looked back. Letting her emotions show in front of him was so easy now, although she kept reminding herself that she hadn't established the foundation of trust that she'd had when she'd first allowed herself to be real in front of Vaughn. Except he stood in front of her, perhaps just as broken as she was, and it was a near impossibility to look into his eyes and say no. "I couldn't -"  
  
"They want me to talk to Dr. Barnett. She's a therapist at the agency. They like to send people to see her . . . I hate having to explain things to people. Sometimes you can't use words to explain an experience and yet she sits there and wants you to talk. Wants you to try to get her to understand so she can analyze you and dissect you, as if there's a right way or a wrong way to feel . . . Sometimes it's just easier to talk to someone who's been there. Someone who doesn't need a million words to really understand what you're trying to say."  
  
"They'll probably want me to talk to her," Sydney realized. The thought of having Barnett try to help her left her cringing, despite what she was sure were good intentions.   
  
Vaughn gestured to the wooden bench a few feet behind them. After a moment of hesitation she nodded and they sat down, a respectable distance from each other on the bench. "They might want you to talk to her. You're going to have to talk to someone Sydney. Whether it's Dr. Barnett or your father or one of your friends . . . or me," he added, the uncertainty obvious in his voice.   
  
She inhaled deeply and felt her shoulders set, her eyes looking straight ahead. Vaughn watched her as her eyes managed to look at the figures skating on the ice without really seeing them. Instead she was obviously elsewhere as she began. "When I woke up in Hong Kong . . . When I realized I'd been missing two years, I lost a lot that night. In one moment you're telling me I'm dead and have been for two years and suddenly everything's gone. My car, my house, my job . . . my clothes . . . pictures and newspaper clippings, all the sentimental things that you take for granted until you realize you can never get them back," she blinked and looked down at her hands, which were tucked neatly in her lap. "Most of my stuff I can get back, but the people," she swallowed back her rising tears. "My two best friends are together, which I don't remember happening. My parents are completely different than the people I remember before I woke up in Hong Kong. My life . . . . my life was always a disaster, but at least before it was my disaster. Now it's someone else's disaster but I'm living it," she sighed.  
  
Sydney paused for a moment to wipe away the remnants of her tears, hoping to reel in her emotions as she forged on. "That's not the worse part though. It's not that Will and Francie are together or that my job is nothing like I remember or that I don't know how to act around my parents, what to think of them . . . I was with the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with, but I woke up and found out I'd lost him," she recalled.  
  
"You called me. Why didn't you call him?" Vaughn softly questioned, clearly perplexed.  
  
She paused, wiping the moisture from under her eye before she glanced at him, "You seemed like the right person to call. I don't remember much, I was so confused then," she admitted.   
  
"Have you seen him? Spoken to him?"  
  
Her eyes slid briefly shut as she shook her head, fighting the battle raging inside her to shed her tears. "I'm not in the exact position you are Vaughn. He's not dead, he's just . . . moved on," she shrugged. "I can't blame him for that. What choice did he have? He's still the thing I miss most about the life I had. For the first time I really let someone in, really let something take priority over my job and school . . . Neither one of us is the same people we were," she admitted, only realizing just how true that statement was. "We spent more time together than apart. We had the same friends, shared our interests. Then there were times when we didn't do anything, and we didn't even have to because we were together," Sydney sighed. "There have been days when I wondered if it really happened, days when I wonder if it wasn't just something I imagined. To have someone be the focal point of your world only to have them stolen . . . No one else feels it either. Everyone else is two years ahead of me. He's an entire life ahead of me now," she sadly realized. "There's no one to talk to who really understands . . ." she looked down at her hands.  
  
Vaughn clearly struggled as he looked at the rink and then back down at his hands, his fingers wrapped tightly around the side of the bench. "Sydney, I know I'm not your father or Francie or Will, but I'm here," he spoke the words confidently, if not a bit uncomfortably. Quickly he shuffled his hands into his pockets, dipping his head as her eyes looked at him. "If you ever want to talk, I'll listen."   
  
"I don't remember anything Vaughn," she conceded as she looked at him, hoping somehow he'd understand.   
  
He turned towards him, his eyes round and sympathetic as he nodded, "I understand."  
  
Frustrated, Sydney shook her head and shut her eyes. "No, you don't. No one does."   
  
"I want to try," Vaughn added, his voice soft.   
  
She looked at him and watched as his hand slipped off the edge of the and briefly tucked into hers. For only a moment it remained there, his skin as warm and golden as honey as he squeezed her long, pale fingers before releasing her. "I know you do," she conceded. "I still love him," she admitted. "I don't even know who he is anymore, but I think about my future and I still see him. I know I shouldn't Vaughn, I know I have no right to think or feel that way but it's still there."  
  
"It'll get better," he quietly offered.  
  
"Will it?" she met his eyes before he looked away, back towards the scant figures remaining in the ice.  
  
"You'll never completely get over it. There's no milestone that you reach and you suddenly stop loving or missing the person, wishing they were there to share your victories . . . You let go because you know they would want you to. He wouldn't want you sad Sydney, he wouldn't want your life to stop because he found the courage to go on. One thing you don't lack Sydney, one thing you never seemed to lack from the moment the agency first recruited you is courage or character. There comes a time when someone will catch your eye or you'll have a conversation where their name isn't mentioned or you have a day without crying over them."  
  
"I haven't cried yet," she realized. "I thought I would, I feel like I should, but I've been so confused . . ."   
  
His expression grew nostalgic, his thoughts clearly far away while he spoke to her. "I used to talk to her. Entire conversations about everything . . . sometimes about nothing," Vaughn realized. "I drank too much, I stopped going to work, everything in my life just ended because I could barely imagine getting out of bed in the morning without her on the other side."  
  
"He's still there though Vaughn, your wife . . . I still see him, talk to him," she reminded him.  
  
"Then you're lucky. I can't imagine it feels that way now Sydney, but you are. You have been given a second chance. There was a time when I would have dropped everything, given just about anything for a second chance. You'll get better. You'll move on, and when the time comes you won't regret it because you'll know that moving on was as much for them as it was for you."  
  
Sydney brushed away her tears and looked at him, a hint of a half smile on her face, "Did Barnett tell you that?"  
  
"No," he chuckled. "A lot of life experience."  
  
"Who did you talk to?" she asked. At his puzzled look, she added, "When you lost your wife. Who did you talk to?"  
  
Vaughn looked away and sighed, "No one. Not yet at least."   
  
"I can listen too Vaughn," she quietly reminded him as he tossed her a smile.  
  
"I know," he promised. "Listen, about Sloane," he began while he briefly massaged his temples. "We'll keep an eye on him. Anything looks suspicious, if either of us thinks he knows more than he should or more than he's letting on, we'll go after Sloane together."  
  
"Thank you," Sydney whispered, allowing her hand to slip over his as they remained, watching the children skate. 


	8. Chapter 7

Early Monday arrived as Vaughn stepped inside the CIA headquarters, making a rare appearance at the offices where he once appeared daily. Picking up his voice messages on his cell phone as he pulled into the parking garage, he took care of the errands he had to run around the office before stopping at a familiar door.  
  
"Come on it," Weiss called as he stepped in. "Hey, what are you doing here?"   
  
"I just had to do a few things," he explained, sliding down into the visitor's chair as his friend focused on his work. "What are you doing here?"  
  
Looking up, the expression on Weiss' face was humorous as he lifted his eyebrows, "Devlin wanted me to finish some report that Haladki screwed up."  
  
Vaughn smirked, "There's nothing new about that."  
  
"Tell me about it," he rolled his eyes. When he glanced up again, he caught the troubled expression on Vaughn's face. In response, Weiss dropped his pen and sat back. "What's wrong?"  
  
"I got a note," he held up the offensive scrap of paper. "They're sending Sydney to see Barnett."  
  
"That's really not a huge surprise Mike."   
  
He shook his head, no longer looking at Weiss, "She's not going to respond well."  
  
"She'll get over it. It's standard procedure, nothing you can do can get her out of it," he reminded him, returning to her work.  
  
"I saw her this weekend."  
  
"Who?" Weiss questioned, only half focused on his friend, his concentration directed towards the report he had to correct.  
  
"Sydney."  
  
"What?" his head snapped up. "Why? Where? Was it a coincidence or are you stalking her at the supermarket?" he quipped.   
  
"No. I paged her," he conceded.  
  
"Mike -"  
  
"She was upset Friday. After hearing about Sloane . . . Something was bothering her."  
  
"That's why they're sending her to Barnett."  
  
"Come on, you and I both know that the good agents never give Barnett half as much as they should. If you're good at what you do, you don't talk about it, ever."   
  
"And Sydney's one of the good ones?"   
  
"She's going to be," he insisted. "Barnett's going to want her to tell her every detail that she's feeling, everything she can't remember and then make her sit there and listen while she dissects her."  
  
"Like Barnett did to to you?" his friend shot back. As Vaughn's eyes darkened and his gaze lowered, Weiss sighed. "I'm sorry, that was unnecessary -"  
  
"I told Sydney about it," he sighed.   
  
"I've been trying to talk to you for months and you've known Sydney for -"   
  
"She's going to be my partner. I don't want her to find out second hand two months from now and question our trust. Anyway, she was in love when she disappeared. She misses him. It's hard for her since he's still there, but he has this whole new life . . . In a way, we're in the same position. I could tell that she wouldn't react well to the news that they were going to send her to Barnett and I thought . . . We talked."   
  
Weiss sighed sadly and leaned forward on his desk, "Mike -"  
  
Vaughn looked up at him, his eyes on fire, "She called me Eric. Out of the blue, she had my number, she knew who I was and she called me . . . I thought she was insane," he conceded. Quietly he questioned, "Do you think she's crazy?"  
  
"No," he shook his head and sighed. "I helped train her, remember?"  
  
"There were some things I didn't tell Devlin or Jack . . . When I got back from Hong Kong," he admitted, his eyes lowered as his best friend scrutinized him cautiously.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You can't tell anyone Weiss," Vaughn warned, looking up at his friend.  
  
"What did she say?"   
  
"In her dossier, it listed Francine Calfo and William Tippin as two of her contacts - they're two of her best friends," he explained. Weiss nodded, recalling the names from the file he'd seen years ago when they recruited her and on multiple occasions when they investigated Sydney Bristow's supposed death. "She told me that they'd doubled Francie. She was legitimately scared and upset Weiss; she thought they were dead. Then, when I asked her how she got my phone number, she said I'd given it to her."  
  
"When?" Weiss brow grew tight as he waited the answer from his pallid friend.  
  
"When I was assigned her handler," he swallowed. "Then . . . when she attacked me, she demanded to know who'd sent me. Actually, she asked if Sloane had sent me and who I worked for." Weiss sat back, clearly shaken as his friend slowly continued. "She had no idea Eric. None of the things that happened to her before she drove off that bridge meant anything to her. So, do you think she's insane?"  
  
"No," he answered after silently contemplating the response. "No. She's brilliant, I've seen the girls test scores, there's no way she's insane. Her imagination is vivid, isn't it? It would have to be to enter this field . . . She's just compensating. Her mind was just compensating with her imagination to make up for the time she lost," Eric suggested, clearly making up the reasoning as he went along. "Think about it. How terrifying would it be to wake up and find out you'd lost two years? To not remember anything or anyone from the last two years of your life? That people thought you were dead? Even if she wasn't completely aware of losing two years, she certainly had to know something was wrong when she woke up in Hong Kong. It's understandable that her imagination began to fill in the gaps."  
  
"How does that include me?"  
  
"I might have shown her a picture of you, she could have seen you when she came by to see me. Hell, you've worked with Jack before, Jack knows your father - maybe she picked up bits and pieces from conversation over the years. Sydney's got a photographic memory, it all sticks," Eric explained. "Do you think she's making it up?"  
  
"For her sake, I hope not," he conceded. "Eric, you didn't see her face when she was talking about this man . . . To love someone like she loved him, to have that type of relationship, must have been incredible."  
  
"But?" he sensed.  
  
"But," Vaughn sighed. "I've thought about what she said and there have been moments when I wish she was making it up. I wished that this man really wasn't that great and hoped that her mind made the relationship out to be so much better than it actually was. She's already in a lot of pain Eric, and I can't imagine how heartbreaking and horrible it would be to love someone that much, to have something so perfect and lose them."   
  
"You loved her," Eric softly pointed out as Vaughn's head flew up, his expression panicked. "Lauren?"  
  
"You didn't see her face," he whispered again, tearing his eyes away.   
  
"Why do you think she's telling you all this?"  
  
"She's in a difficult place Eric. You said it yourself. She needs someone who will listen without trying to get answers out of her. Someone she trusts."  
  
"Why not her friends? Will and Francie?"  
  
"Why would she want to burden them now? They thought she was dead too. Can you imagine finding out one day that the best friend you thought you'd lost two years ago wasn't really dead? Right now it's understandable that they're overwhelmed by everything and confused. I'm sure they've helped her, but they've got a lot of questions now. Maybe more than Sydney has."  
  
"So she talks to you."  
  
"Once Eric," he reminded him sharply. "I called her, she talked, and I listened."  
  
"Like Barnett?"  
  
His eyes rolled as his eyebrows rose, "Not exactly."  
  
"Be careful Mike," he advised his friend as Vaughn slowly pulled to his feet.  
  
"Someone needs to be there for her," Vaughn reminded him. Every logical fiber in his body was screaming to slow down, to keep Sydney Bristow and all her mysterious reappearance from the dead at arms length. Except it was instinctive to respond to her, and it was quickly becoming apparent that arms length was far too great a distance.   
  
"Yeah," Weiss muttered as his friend walked out of the room. "But who's going to be there for you?" he questioned aloud in the empty office.   
  
Since their conversation, the questions had begun to haunt Sydney's thoughts. With sleep nowhere in sight, she got out of bed, suddenly determined, and got dressed. Less than an hour later, she grabbed her keys and her ID badge and was out the door, heading towards the CIA headquarters. Perhaps many people weren't awake at that time of night, but archives were always open. Eventually she would have to confront Sloane as an obvious threat, and she wasn't going to lose ground because he had thirty years of knowledge about a world that he'd forced her into.  
  
The archives were massive, the first place where she felt she could learn enough to fully battle Sloane. As the hours ticked towards the start of her work day, she sat in the back, no one but the late shift archivist and the janitor to keep her company. Pouring over folders, she began with Sloane, not at all surprised that he was a model agent during his brief career - what a better place to hide than right in front of them? What caused her stomach to turn were various accounts of how he'd saved lives, how he left the CIA a revered agent who helped them bring down the Alliance. The mere existence of the Rambaldi artifacts caused Sydney to doubt everything that he'd told her, despite the fact that it was the only logical argument, and his pristine CIA file only left her more dubious.  
  
Less than two hours before she was due at the JTF, she approached the archivist, thanking him for his assistance with researching Arvin Sloane and then asked him for the references related to another man. She had tried her best to ignore it. For over two weeks she somehow kept her insatiable curiousity in check. On that sixteenth day, with her low-level security clearance in hand, she had the archivist pull the file.  
  
Her name had been Lauren. She'd been the daughter of a respected east coast senator. She was a blonde. Her astrological sign was Leo. She'd been accomplished roller skater. She'd completed her undergraduate degree at the University of Virginia, studying Foreign Affairs. Obviously something akin to a genius, only in her late twenties she already held two Master's degrees - one in Security Policy Administration from George Washington University and another in U.S. National Security Policy from Georgetown. Even with all of that east coast education, all of her studies had been completed by the time she arrived in Los Angeles, just weeks before she turned twenty-seven.   
  
Ironically they'd met during the two years that she still felt were unaccounted for in any of her realities. Eric would later tell her they met during a joint investigation between the NSC and CIA and had hit it off immediately. They'd married less than a year before Sydney reappeared, and had nearly five and a half months of wedded bliss before she'd died.  
  
Even though this Vaughn had never been hers, the thought of his wedded bliss with the deceased woman left her heart torn apart as she sat pouring over the files on that early Tuesday morning. Briefly Sydney considered if that had been how Vaughn felt when she first met him in her world, still struggling with the loss of Danny.  
  
In this life, with this nearly too understanding reincarnation of Michael Vaughn, she still missed the Vaughn she'd known before. She longed for the reassurance and the checkered history they had once shared. Sydney found herself wishing for more than she had a right to ask for, more than the kindness he'd generously extended to his new coworker, even if there were a handful of times when she felt his eyes sneak over her body in a not so subtle once over. Instead this man she would always love had to be breaking, a feeling Sydney knew all too well. Lauren had only been gone for four months. Her death, a brain aneurysm while on assignment in D.C. for the NSC, had been unexpected, with no opportunity for goodbye. In her mind she could imagine it, just a casual kiss goodbye and agreements to have dinner the night she returned, a night that never came.  
  
As Sydney got out of the car and approached the JTF building, she contemplated how she could be there for him, wondering if he'd ever let her. Their first time around trust had been thrust upon them, neither having an option given their precarious situation. This time they had to earn it, gaining it in bits and pieces, no matter how painstaking the task. Vaughn had been there for her, holding the dustpan as she swept together the fragments of her life post-Danny and never left her side as she tried to assemble them into something meaningful. He'd loved her, from the very get go, and she couldn't imagine not loving him. For the first time since she turned up in this crazy existence, her own burdens didn't seem all that heavy, not when she desperately wished she could carry the heavy weight of grief that she could only imagine he carried.  
  
Determined, she walked into the building prepared not to let what she just learned interfere with her day. After all, Arvin Sloane was arriving and he had to be her first priority, no matter how jumbled she felt for and about Vaughn. She traced her normal path through the JTF when Kendall came into view and called her name. "Sydney, just the agent I was looking for," he spoke. "Your excused from this morning's debrief."  
  
"Excuse me?" she crossed her arms.  
  
"You're needed over at headquarters. I've scheduled you to see one of our therapists, Dr. Barnett," he handed her a slip of paper, an unfamiliar office number written in by a messy hand.   
  
"I don't think -"  
  
"The agency would like you to speak to someone Sydney. We feel it would not only be on your best interest but in the best interest of the agency and your case as well."  
  
"Does my father know?"  
  
"Your father agreed with Directors Devlin, Vaughn and myself that it would be everyone's best interest. The sooner you get past this experience Sydney, the better it is for everyone," he explained. Sydney looked at him and did her best to not tell him this wasn't a type of thing she suspected you ever got over. She would move on, but it would always be there.  
  
"Okay," she replied regrettably. This was a no win situation, and the former leeway she was accustomed to no longer existed, especially in relation to Kendall.   
  
"Your appointment is at ten," he told her as she glanced at her watch. By the time she looked up, Kendall was already on his way to wherever he was going. In her estimates she had just enough time to get a cup of coffee and check in on Marshall before she had to sit through the cross-town commute to meet with Dr. Barnett. Sydney sighed, annoyed that the meeting was required as she walked to her desk. Once her things were settled, she began to walk towards Marshall's area when she heard a familiar voice call her name.  
  
"Hey," he jogged over to her, half a smile on his face as he glanced around. "Do you have a second? We need to talk," he asked quietly.  
  
Sydney glanced around at their coworkers, no one even noticing they were talking as she nodded at him. "Sure Vaughn," she answered. He smiled briefly in relief and lightly touched her elbow as he led her over to what Weiss had once playfully dubbed the flirting corner.   
  
"They're making you see Barnett," he spoke as she turned to face him.  
  
"How -"  
  
"I knew they were going to, I just didn't realize it would be today," he explained. Vaughn shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, running his face quickly over his face before he looked over at her. "While you're gone, I'll keep an eye on Sloane, try to figure out what he's really up to."  
  
"Vaughn . . ." Sydney sighed, studying her shoes as she crossed her arms. Finally she glanced back and met his eyes, touched by his concern even if she felt she didn't truly deserve it. For the first time since her return Sydney truly regretted all she was unable to tell him, hated how much of herself she couldn't trust him with. That had never been a problem for them before, but in this life it was a critical means to her survival. As much as she hated lying, she could stand looking anyone else in the eye with a false truth as long as she hadn't had to disrespect what they had by lying to him. Still, she had tried to tell him, tried to explain at the hockey rink that she didn't remember anything. To herself Sydney admitted she could have been more persistent, but at least it was an attempt. "Why are you doing this?"   
  
"I trust your instinct Sydney," he told her, his voice wrapped around the word so gently it nearly broke her heart. "I believe in you."  
  
At his words she dipped her head and brushed a wayward strand of hair back behind her ear. Vaughn's eyes remained silently studying her as she composed herself and looked back at him, the light that bounced off of her moist eyes betraying her emotions. "Thank you."   
  
"You should go," he realized.  
  
"I should go," she agreed. "I'll see you after."  
  
"Right," he smiled as they went their separate ways.  
  
Sydney arrived at the appropriate suite of CIA offices just minutes before her scheduled appointment. The secretary smiled as she gave her name and was directed to the correct office. The nameplate with credentials she remembered from Barnett's door were gone as were all the personal touches she remembered the good doctor having. Still the office was furnished with a pair of comfortable sofa and chair along with a more practical desk and set of chairs across from it. Sydney sat down on the sofa and looked around, noting that the office was nearly devoid of anything related to the office's occupant. The only thing of any personal value or meaning she could find was a New York Mets beanie baby on the desk, a few picture frames on the desk, and a diploma. Before she could cross the room to closely inspect the diploma, the door clicked open and she sprang to her feet.  
  
The gray eyes that met hers certainly did not belong to Dr. Barnett. The redhead appeared to be shorter than she was, wearing a gray sweater and black slacks that took pains to hide the curves that came with pregnancy. Her eyes were warm but distant to match the smile on her face. She approached Sydney, her hand out and her face unreadable. "Agent Bristow, it's an honor to meet you. I'm Dr. Becky Cox."   
  
Sydney smiled as she shook her hand, unable to stop her question, "I thought I was meeting with Dr. Barnett."  
  
"You will be, eventually. However right now Dr. Barnett is out of the country on an assignment with the agency. I was given some of her cases in the meantime, including yours," she explained, silently motioning for Sydney to take a seat. A moment later the woman carefully balanced herself into the seat across from her. "How are you doing Sydney?"  
  
"Better," she answered honestly. Her weekend conversation with Vaughn had helped, far more than she knew it should have. For a moment she would have loathed how one relationship with one man could impact her entire view of life - if that man had been anyone other than Vaughn. Once she had him in her life, she wanted him to remain there, in one form of another - although she as near certain this way was nothing short of torture.  
  
"You've been back for a few weeks. I see here that you've got an apartment. You're back to work, I imagine that must help."  
  
"It has," she replied.  
  
"You were engaged Sydney, when you disappeared."  
  
"I had an entirely different life when I disappeared Dr. Cox," she reminded the woman. Not that she had any reason to dislike her, but the general nature of her occupation annoyed Sydney. "I was in love, my parent's were entirely different . . . really, the only thing that hasn't changed is my job."  
  
"No one can expect you to not grieve these things Sydney."   
  
"There's no time for that," she pointed out. "Everyone's two years ahead of me. I can't stop to grieve, I can't stop to think about how much I don't have - I can't lose anymore time."  
  
"Have you talked to them? Spent some time with your family and fiance?"  
  
"The man I was with . . . We're not together anymore," she sighed, careful how she chose her words, uninterested in lying any more than she had to. "My mother . . . she's still convinced I was in some sort of fugue state," Sydney added. The topic had come up over dinner the previous night, leaving her to be struck with how different Laura Bristow truly was from Irina Derevko. Both, she saw now, fiercely loved her and likely truly did want what was best for her - even if Irina Derevko had an awfully funny way of showing it. Except Irina wouldn't have mourned her death, not without fighting to make damn sure she was actually dead. Laura, meanwhile, had mourned her in anguish and was convinced that her daughter had left them in a fugue and returned to them by a miracle. According to her father, she wanted to hear nothing about terrorists and abductions. Laura Bristow was never anything less than strong-willed, but when it came to her family there were some things she simply refused to handle.  
  
"Your parents are entitled to grieve differently. Your father's been with the agency for many years Sydney, I'm sure your mother has considered losing him on multiple occasions. While it's doubtful you were in a fugue state, it's understandable that your mother accepts everything with that explanation," Becky calmly explained. "Does it make it difficult for you, not being able to share your actual experience with your mother?"  
  
"I can't share what I experienced with anyone - I don't remember anything," she reminded. "Maybe it's for the best, that she believes I just didn't remember . . . There have been moments when I wished I could convince myself that," she admitted.  
  
"But you know better."  
  
"Yes," she looked at the doctor. "I know that the Covenant took me because they thought I was the woman Rambaldi prophesized. Beyond that, no one - not me, not my father or Director Kendall or Director Vaughn or even the CIA - knows anything else."   
  
"Do you believe in what the Covenant does? About Rambaldi?"  
  
Sydney chuckled bitterly, her gaze on the office window, "my life was so much easier before I ever heard that name."  
  
"I imagine it was."  
  
"I didn't," she admitted. "I'm not sure I do, still, but there are times when it's hard not to . . . But if I do believe in Rambaldi, what am I doing here?" she looked at Becky.  
  
"What do you mean Sydney?"  
  
"If everything - good, bad, every major world event and every action I ever do - is prophesized by this man who died centuries before I was even born, what am I doing? Everything I do will already be predetermined, there's no point in trying to stop the Covenant. In my case there's no point in making a decision about everything - it's all been settled by Rambaldi."  
  
"So the prophecy takes away your free will, your ability to make your determination."  
  
"That's what followers of Rambaldi believe, isn't it? That no matter what I do, I will take down the greatest power known to man. The only thing it doesn't mention is whether it's intention or unintentional," she muttered.  
  
"We all have free will Sydney."  
  
"That's what I used to think," she agreed. "But I don't. Not with the Covenant getting involved in my life and some combination of Nostradamus and Da Vinci making my decisions for me before I was even conceived."  
  
"You don't have to believe Sydney. I believe that there are many high-ranking officials on the case who don't believe. But those who do are powerful - they have money and command over dangerous people - and keeping Rambaldi out of their possession is important."  
  
"I never wanted to prove some prophet wrong. All I wanted to do . . . I wanted to do something useful, to help people."  
  
Becky smiled encouragingly, "You are."  
  
"The worse part is I'm not even sure I want to anymore. Not like I used to. Now I've lost two years and all I want is what I kept pushing away."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
Sydney smiled wearily at the pregnant doctor, her left hand placed protectively over her swollen belly with her aged gold wedding band visible on her finger. "I want to be married, to have a family . . . I kept telling myself that there'd be time for that one day. The problem is I could never quite figure out when one day would start."  
  
"It's not as easy as it looks," the doctor chuckled as her patient smiled. "You're not old Sydney - you're thirty. What you're doing here matters. Give yourself some time. You're adjusting to something very traumatic. Once things are settled, if you feel comfortable in every aspect of your life accept your work, then I'd be concerned."  
  
"I can't just walk away," she reminded her sadly.  
  
"I know," Becky sadly agreed. "You're going to do good work though Sydney. Don't doubt that. You already have."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
The doctor looked up at her clock and back at Sydney, "I'm afraid this is the end of our time. If you ever want to talk, please feel free to stop by. My door is almost always open."   
  
"Thank you," she spoke as both stood, the doctor slower to rise than Sydney, and shook hands.   
  
"Good luck Sydney."  
  
"You too," she wished and walked out of the room.  
  
Sydney walked into the JTF just after noon. Vaughn glanced up from his desk, his expression clearly weary until he saw her. With a tilt of his head he pointed her towards their earlier corner, arriving within moments of each other. "How'd it go?" he immediately inquired.  
  
She crossed her arms and looked at him, "Fine. It was fine. She was nice enough."   
  
"Good," he nodded.   
  
"What about Sloane? Where is he?"  
  
"They introduced him in debrief. He did a little work with Marshall, gave him some story about the clock and then he went somewhere with Kendall."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"I don't know. I asked my father and he wouldn't tell me, just someplace where they needed him to look at something. Kendall said he'd be back tomorrow."  
  
"Great," she groaned. "Did he say anything unusual?"  
  
"Not during the debrief," Vaughn replied as she nodded. It took only a moment but he noticed her distant look, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. "Are you okay Syd?"  
  
She raised her head and smiled at him. "I'm fine," she assured him. "I should go. I have paperwork to do."  
  
"Me too," he smiled as they walked back to their respective desks.  
  
The day dragged out, one of those paperwork-clogged days that was never spoken about in the CIA recruit video. For an hour Sydney found sanctuary in Marshall's office, listening to him share what else he'd learned about Rambaldi from Sloane and finding it was nothing she hadn't already known. Early in the afternoon Francie called and she agreed to meet her friend in the early evening at the restaurant to catch up on girl talk while Will was working. Since she was no in hurry to rush home to another meal alone, she gladly accepted the invitation and looked forward to seeing her friend.  
  
Conveniently her walk out took her past Vaughn one last time as the two shared a casual goodbye, his eyes warm as they parted ways for the day. The ride to the restaurant wasn't as long as she expected and she easily found a parking space. The warm reds of the restaurant greeted her as she surveyed it for the first time in two years. What was most amazing was that the restaurant was exactly the same as she remembered her Francie decorating it a lifetime ago.  
  
Finding Francie was easy, her friend sitting at one of the few vacant tables in the back, pouring over a recipe book. Sydney smiled as she approached, placing her bag in a free chair and taking as seat. "Hey."  
  
"Hey," Francie smiled up at her. "Will got me this new cookbook and I thought it would be a good idea to add some new things. The only thing is that I think I like every recipe but I don't want to go too far off from what we usually serve."  
  
"Will got you a cookbook?" she chuckled.  
  
"Yeah, I know," she rolled her eyes. "How was work?"  
  
"Fine," she sighed, pulling her eyes away and studying the table's vase, complete with a single red flower.  
  
"Syd, what's going on?" Francie questioned, looking up a few months later and catching her friend's clearly far off expression.  
  
She thanked the waitress who brought over her customary tea and studied the mug in her hand. Finally she looked back up and Francie, a smile hinting at the corner of her lips. "I have a crush on a guy from work."   
  
"Really?" a smile blossomed across Francie's face as Sydney nodded. "What about Danny?"  
  
Both of their smiles briefly vanished as she sighed and took a sip of her tea. Eventually Sydney turned back to her friend and tried to explain, "He's married Francie."  
  
"I know," she nodded. "He called and told us . . . I didn't want to tell you Syd. I was so mad at him. I can't imagine -"  
  
"It was over," she stopped her friend. "We weren't going anywhere. I love him," she admitted. "He's a wonderful guy Francie, and most of the time we were together I was happy, but now . . ."  
  
"Now you've got a crush on a guy from work?" Francie finished, a hint of her smile returning to her face.  
  
"Yes," she grinned.  
  
"What's his name?"  
  
To Francie's amazement, Sydney's smile got bigger, "Michael."  
  
"Well?" she pressed immediately.   
  
"We work together," she pushed hair behind her ear and continued carefully. "He's smart and funny . . . and he's so cute," she added, feeling her cheeks burn and a rush of deja vu to the ache in her soul. "Hot cute," she amended before Francie could demand clarification.  
  
"So? Go for it!"  
  
"The ba-" she stopped herself, her eyes briefly shutting as she shook her head. Finally Sydney looked back at her curious friend, "I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be crazy about that at work," she pointed out. The truth was they hadn't been crazy about it, but nothing they'd ever done as a couple had jeopardized their work at the CIA in any way and so no one dared to even make it an issue. That had been then though, when she had more than proven her value and he had been the only one really brave enough to stand by her during everything.   
  
"So? Be discreet," she shrugged.  
  
"It's not that simple Francie."  
  
"Does he have a girlfriend?"  
  
"No," Sydney conceded. "Francie . . . He was married. His wife just died a few months ago."  
  
"Oh," she spoke, her grin disappearing. "How long ago?"  
  
"A few months," she shrugged. "Not that long. I think he's still grieving."  
  
"So are you, in a way," her friend pointed out. "Sure, you and Danny are history now, but it couldn't have been easy when you first saw him. Maybe . . . Maybe it'd be easier talking to this Michael guy than it is talking to me about it," she shrugged. "I mean Syd, I love talking to you - but if not talking to me about Danny gives you something to talk to this guy about, I'd understand."  
  
"Maybe," she agreed. There was no easy solution - the path for them, if he were even interested in pursuing it, would apparently never be easy. They could never stumble into each other at the same time.   
  
"You really like him, don't you?" Francie realized.  
  
"I do," she admitted. That was an understatement, the truth something she could neither fully explain nor share with Francie. A truth she couldn't even yet share with Vaughn.  
  
"There's nothing wrong with being there for him, being his friend."  
  
"He's such a nice guy Francie."  
  
"Bring him by for lunch or something. I can cook for him, Will can interrogate him - it'll be great," she suggested as Sydney laughed.  
  
"We just started working together too. I don't want him to think I'm unprofessional."  
  
Francie looked at her skeptically, "The last one anyone who knows you would think is that you're unprofessional. Your the most dedicated workaholic I know."  
  
"He talked to me about her," Sydney admitted quietly.  
  
"Michael told you about his wife?"  
  
"A bit. Sort of," she shrugged. "He really loved her. I don't . . . I don't know how to compete with that. I wouldn't want to."  
  
"Then don't," her friend spoke. "Be you. Be the wonderful Sydney Bristow and Michael will have no option but to fall for you."  
  
"He's . . ." she struggled for the words, taking a sip of her coffee. "He's incredible Francie."  
  
"Well go for it," Francie smiled. "Don't rush or anything Syd, you both have a lot to through, but you know . . . There's no reason you can't get through it together."   
  
Sydney smiled and returned to her coffee, hoping perhaps her luck would shift and things would go her way. 


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8  
  
The next day's debrief was scheduled early in the morning as she walked into the room, halting in her step when she found herself in Arvin Sloane's line of vision. The older man's only response was a smile that left her wanting out of her own skin. Instinctively Sydney turned her head and met Vaughn's eyes, smiling briefly at him as she took her regular seat. Silently she acknowledged her father, Weiss and Marshall with a nod before she turned her attention to Kendall.   
  
"Sydney, since you weren't here, this is Arvin Sloane," Kendall gestured to the man she was all too familiar with. Politely she stood and reached over to shake his hand, wiping her palm on her slacks once her hand was back under the table.   
  
"It's a pleasure to be able to work with you Sydney. Your father used to talk about you often. So often I feel as though I know you myself," he chuckled. Her only response was a smile, forced and silent as she waited for Kendall to continue.   
  
"Sloane will be working with us for however long we need him. He's an expert on Rambaldi and maintains contacts inside the Covenant which we can and will exploit when necessary," Jack explained.  
  
"How is it that you have contacts inside the Covenant?" Sydney inquired.  
  
"I worked with the CIA for many years Sydney, under a variety difference aliases," Sloane easily explained. "For the benefit of the CIA, several of these contacts are ones I've maintained to insure that any critical information which may be passed to me ends up in the right hands."   
  
"Then what's the Covenant's end game?" she challenged.   
  
"Rambaldi," he shrugged. "While it's never been proven, many who study Rambaldi believe that forty-seven of his key artifacts come together to form something called Il Dire -"  
  
"The Telling," Vaughn cut him off. "What's so special about the Telling that the Covenant's willing to go to such lengths to acquire it?"  
  
"I'm not entirely convinced the Covenant's first concern is acquiring it," Sloane added. "I think perhaps their first priority is making sure the CIA doesn't get all the necessary material to put together Il Dire."  
  
"What does the woman Rambaldi prophecizes about have to do with Il Dire?" Sydney demanded.  
  
"You have everything to do with it Sydney. You're critical to Rambaldi's prophecy. If his prophecy is to come to happen, you're essential."   
  
"We don't know for certain that Sydney's the woman in the drawing," Vaughn defended.  
  
"Who else do you suggest it is Agent Vaughn?" Sloane looked at the younger, a challenge in his eyes that made even Sydney flinch. "Do you know of someone else who bares such a resemblance to Sydney who could somehow be the woman Rambaldi speaks of?"   
  
Sydney watched him, watched a silent struggle on Vaughn's face, confused when he dropped his eyes and shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "I don't."  
  
"Then we work on the assumption that the woman in question is Sydney," Sloane continued. "Our first step will be to set up a meeting with one of my contacts. It's likely the Covenant is distressed by your disappearance Sydney, perhaps even monitoring you from time to time. I'd advise you to be cautious."  
  
Sydney bit back a remark and remained quiet, only nodding.   
  
"How can we be sure they'll trust you?" Vaughn questioned.  
  
"They'll trust me Agent Vaughn," Sloane met the younger man's eyes, sending him a look that sent Sydney's skin crawling.   
  
"I think that's all for now," Kendall realized. "We'll update again today if we learn any new information," he dismissed as they all went their separate ways.  
  
"Are you okay?" Vaughn asked Sydney quietly, walking quickly to keep her pace as they walked out of the conference room.  
  
"I should trust him," she mused softly, glancing quickly back at Sloane through the conference doors as he spoke to Jack and Kendall.  
  
"Why? He's given you absolutely no reason to trust him."  
  
"The CIA trusts him. My father trusts him," she reminded him. "You should trust him too," she pointed out, feeling frustrated. This cycle was neverending, with Sloane behind the wheel there were moments when she wondered if the fight was worth it. He'd somehow managed to once take everything away from her piece by piece, and now he'd done it again in one swoop. There were days when Sydney grew tired of it, moments when she was simply too exhausted to fight it.   
  
"That's not going to happen," he quickly answered her, his voice low and fierce.  
  
"Sydney," Jack spoke, stepping out of the conference room and towards them. Vaughn stepped away and smiled quickly at Sydney before he returned to his work area. "I was told you met with Dr. Barnett yesterday," he began as they walked towards her own desk.  
  
"Actually, I met with Dr. Cox."  
  
"How did it go?" he asked easily, his voice taking a paternal warmth that had once seemed so foreign to his personality. Except in this world he was used to being her father - Sydney just needed to adjust enough to let him.  
  
"I'm going to be okay dad."  
  
"Did Dr. Cox say that?"  
  
"No, I did, but I'm sure she'd agree with me," she replied. "Right now there's nothing more I can do other than wait for my next mission."   
  
"Good," he nodded. "Sloane would like to speak to you."  
  
"Dad -"  
  
"I think it would be a wise idea Sydney. He's a valuable asset to the CIA; he can be a valuable asset in helping us work to take down the Covenant and understand more about the last two years of your life," he pointed out. Then Jack moved in closer and dropped his voice, "use him Sydney. We are going to use every conceivable option the CIA offers, Arvin Sloane included, to get the answers you need."   
  
"I'll to speak to him," she spoke curtly and walked back into the conference room. Sloane glanced up at her briefly before he went back to organizing his things back into his folder. "My father said you asked for me."  
  
"Yes," he shut the folder and looked at her, a smile on his face. "I've been curious as to how you've been doing since our last . . . meeting."  
  
"I've been fine."  
  
"I've wondered if you look forward to us working together as enthusiastically as I do."   
  
Sydney regarded him with a cold eye before she spoke, her voice low and threatening, "It's unlikely."  
  
"We're allies again Sydney. Personally, I regard it as a nice change of pace. Perhaps we can be what we used to be to each other . . . I saw it in your eyes Sydney. I regarded you as a daughter just as strongly as you regarded me as a father."  
  
"Nothing you've done or will ever do will convince me that you're my ally."   
  
"I hope one day that'll change Sydney. I'll always be here for you," he walked towards her and placed a hand briefly on her arm. Before she could respond with her instincts, he pulled away and walked out of the room, leaving Sydney with goosebumps on her skin and a bitter taste in her mouth.   
  
The day ended with no real progress regarding the Covenant and Rambaldi. Sloane was leaving Los Angeles the following night to meet with an apparent Covenant contact in Rome. Despite Sydney's adamant suggestion, they were sending him alone with only a wire for the CIA to observe the meeting. The work day had left her with nothing but annoyance and a horrible feeling in her gut made worse by the knowledge that there was nothing she could do to stop whatever Sloane was up to, not in her current position. It was difficult enough to take down Sloane with the entire CIA as her back up. Doing it without a single ally was unimaginable.  
  
Whatever plans she hoped to have with Will and Francie were cut short when she checked her voicemail. Apparently it was one of their many anniversaries and Will was taking her best friend out of town overnight as a surprise. As much as she disliked the lack of company, Sydney was happy for her friends, glad they still had in each other what they so desperately deserved. The only thing she hated was that her missing two years had prevented her from watching their love truly bloom, just as the clone had robbed her of that opportunity in her other world.  
  
The dinner choices at her apartment were slim. After a long shower, hot enough to burn away her daily aggrivation and constant annoyance with Sloane - at least for a little while - she was back out the door. There had been a time, not so long ago, when home was where she always wanted to be. It was her only comfort and sanctuary in the world, but try as she might, her new apartment didn't yet feel like it had become her real home. Needless to say, there were many opportunities when she didn't mind getting out of the house. Instead she drove around the neighborhood, looking for a place to find some coffee.  
  
Twenty minutes later she found herself in line at an unassuming coffee shop. The simplicity of the place had caught her attention, and she stood behind a woman who appeared to be ordering the entire shop. Meanwhile was was debating the merits of a mocha versus a french vanilla latte. Behind her she heard a small group of college students talking quietly among themselves as she felt her stomach rumble and wondered if she should leave and find someplace to eat some dinner.  
  
"Sydney?" a familiar voice asked as she turned around and smiled.   
  
"Hey Vaughn," she replied, delighted to see him as the annoyed clerk waited impatiently to serve her. With only a second glance at him, she stepped up and ordered, feeling him close behind her. After she ordered, Sydney stepped aside and waited patiently as Vaughn ordered the brew she always remembered him drinking. Once he had his coffee in hand, he turned towards her, his face in a half smile.  
  
"Would you mind if I joined you?" he inquired.  
  
"No, not at all," she shook her head as they walked over to a quiet table in the corner.   
  
"Are you okay?" Vaughn asked, his voice dipping intimately as they took their seats.  
  
"I'm fine," she replied instinctively. When ( delete extra word "all") he tossed her was a skeptical look she was all too familiar with, Sydney took a sip of her coffee and elaborated. "I'm as well as can be expected. I need to move on, Vaughn. What I had then . . . I don't know if I can ever get it back, but I can't just stop, because then they win."  
  
"There's a chance we'll make a breakthrough in Rome."  
  
"I doubt it," she mumbled into her caffeinated drink.  
  
"Me too," he replied. "Do you have any plans?" he questioned casually.   
  
"No. My friends went away. It's there anniversary," Sydney explained, sitting back in the chair.   
  
"Francie and Will?"  
  
"Yeah," she smiled, amazed at how he took the time to remember something as insignificant as her friend's names. Surely the information was in her dossier, but it amazed her that he remembered. "I thought maybe we could have dinner tonight or something, but I didn't even realize it was their anniversary . . . These are things I should know Vaughn, they're two of my best friends and I don't even know their anniversary."  
  
"Not everyone remembers anniversaries," he pointed out gently.  
  
"I do," she softly shot back, candidly remembering their various anniversaries. October 1st, 2001, the day they met, to February 7, 2003, the first morning she woke up in his arms after the take down of the Alliance. Those days had meant something to her, and there had been a time when she'd known all the important days in her friend's lives as well.   
  
"You'll learn them again. I'm sure your friend's don't mind that you don't remember."  
  
"You're right," she realized. No matter how much it bothered her, Will and Francie were still so simply happy she was alive to care whether she remembered their anniversary. "What about you? Isn't there a Kings game tonight?"  
  
"No, not yet," he chuckled. After a moment, Vaughn's eyes met hers, curious, "How did you know -"  
  
"Your pen," she answered, hoping that he still carried a Kings pen and used it at work. "I saw the pen and just assumed."   
  
"I have tickets to their first game, but that's not for another week," he explained.   
  
"That sounds nice," Sydney smiled.  
  
"I always try to make the first game," he shrugged. "They're not always victories, but they're always good games. The crowds are excited . . . The first game my father ever took me to was a Kings home opener," Vaughn explained.  
  
"That's a nice memory," she commented.  
  
"Yeah, it is," he whispered before his voice returned to it's normal tone. "Have you ever been to a Kings game?"  
  
"A few times," she smiled, unable to meet his eyes as memories of their earlier time together resurfaced. "There are moments when those events feel like they're someone else's life," she whispered as he caught her attention.   
  
"They're your memories Sydney, even if they don't make sense, you shouldn't lose them just because there's no one left to share them with."  
  
"Sometimes I wonder if they mean as much though."  
  
"Why would you wonder that?" Vaughn questioned, legitimately curious.  
  
"Memories are supposed to mean something. They're supposed to lead to where you are in a relationship with someone . . . My memories don't do that."   
  
"You don't know that Sydney. They're important to you, that's enough for them to mean something."  
  
"Thank you," she smiled at him. "I'm sorry Vaughn, you've already done more than enough -"  
  
"No one's forcing me to be here Syd," he stopped her. "I'm here because I want to be."  
  
Sydney grinned and ducked her head, her face flushed from his intense gaze. For a moment she considered asking why, but decided it was too much to risk her luck. Vaughn was there with her and she wasn't interested in tempting fate. "So, when you're not drinking coffee, working or watching the Kings, what else do you do?" she asked, eager to learn of any differences between the man across from her and the version she'd known so well.  
  
"I play hockey," he shrugged. "I play pool when I can," he confessed, his face nearly red as he took a sip of his coffee. "I have a dog."  
  
"Really?" she asked, wondering what had become of Donovan the adorable bulldog. Admittedly she'd only seen him a handful of times once they began dating, but once she'd even taken the little guy to the vet and she'd felt a bond with him. Both, afterall, thoroughly and completely loved and were loved by Michael Vaughn. Sydney figured it was enough of a bond for anyone.  
  
"What? Really do I have a dog or really I play hockey and pool?" he teased.  
  
"Both," Sydney chuckled.   
  
"Yes. He's a bulldog named Donovan. Not as fast as he used to be, but I've discovered that means I have more shoes than I did before," he grinned. "I've probably spent too much time playing hockey and pool for them to be considered hobbies."  
  
"Obsessions?" she grinned.  
  
Vaughn laughed and nodded, "Pretty much. What about you?"  
  
"Honestly?" she asked. Sydney wasn't surprised when he turned serious and nodded, as interested in her as he'd ever been. "I really don't do anything else right now but work. I read, but most of that's work related. I liked to watch movies when I can. Mostly old ones, black and white versions of Shakespeare are some of my favorites," she explained as he smiled.  
  
"You studied English, that's not a surprise."  
  
"One of my friends used to love to garden," Sydney added, her voice dropping slightly as she thought of the woman who had been the closest thing to a mother that she could remember. "She's passed away now, but I used to help her garden. I always thought when I was older and had my own yard I'd like to give it a try," she shrugged.   
  
"I'm sorry about your friend," he whispered, his voice sincere.  
  
"I miss her, but she was suffering," she remembered. "This world . . . the life she was leading, she deserved better than what she had."  
  
"Most good people do," he added.  
  
"Yeah," she agreed, her lips curved into a small smile as she wiped away the moisture from her eyes. "I'm sorry Vaughn," Sydney glanced at her watch. "I should go. I haven't had dinner yet -" she explained as she began to gather up her few belongings.   
  
"You should come," he blurted out as she slowly stood.   
  
"Excuse me?" Sydney paused as he stood as well.   
  
"To the Kings game. You should come with me."  
  
"Vaughn -" she felt her skin burn as he began to protest.  
  
"It could be fun Sydney. The first game of the season is always a great one to go too. It'll get you out of work," he pointed out practically. "I've been told the zamboni's fun if you don't really like hockey," Vaughn quietly added.   
  
She studied him for a moment, his earnest expression as she battled her emotions. "I couldn't," she shook her head. "I don't want to take the ticket away from Weiss or anyone else -"  
  
"The ticket doesn't belong to anyone else," he stopped her. "We should go Sydney."   
  
This was, Sydney knew, a very bad idea on several different levels. Even so, her number of friends wasn't exactly overwhelming, not that it had ever been. Vaughn made her happy, even if just as a friend. After all she'd gone through, after all she now knew they had both gone through, maybe that was enough. There didn't need to be any guarantees or promises. They made each other happy and that was enough for now.   
  
"We should," she agreed after what seemed to Vaughn to be silence that lingered for far too long.   
  
"Great," he grinned widely, unable to hold back his enthusiasm.   
  
"I should go now," she repeated.  
  
"Sure," he nodded, still smiling. "We'll finalize the details at work . . . Or you have my number," he realized quickly.  
  
"I do," Sydney smiled, taking this as silent permission, perhaps even something more, to call him. Vaughn smiled at her as she nodded and walked out of the shop, a goofy smile on her face.  
  
"Do you believe in soul mates?"  
  
Francie all but choked on her coffee as she looked up at her best friend. Monday night Sydney had arrived on the doorstep of the apartment Francie and Will shared, the place that had once belonged to Francie and Sydney. Her friends had been back from their trip for nearly a day, and she had allowed them their time to unwind from their trip before she dropped in on them. Francie had been thrilled to see her, pulling her down onto the sofa to chat and getting her coffee. With Will working on an assignment the two were alone and she was eager for some girl talk.  
  
"Excuse me?" Francie took a smaller sip of the caramel liquid.  
  
"Do you believe in soul mates Francie?" she asked again, her voice devoid of any expectations.  
  
The other woman shrugged, "I don't know. Once, a long time ago, I thought Charlie might have been . . . " she snorted. "That certainly wasn't the case though, was it?"   
  
"No," Sydney shook her head. "It wasn't."  
  
"Is this about Danny?" she asked sympathetically.   
  
"No," she assured her. In fact Sydney hadn't thought about Danny in days. Work had kept her busy - today she'd been informed that she wouldn't be on the team accompanying Sloane to meet his contact in Rome. In fact neither would Vaughn. Instead Weiss and her father would be amongst those to travel with him and observe the meeting on location. What angered her even more was learning that her father had been the one to insist she stay in Los Angeles and observe via video in the rotunda. While Sydney knew logically her father wanted what was best for her, Jack's best intentions had only annoyed her.   
  
Still, she had plenty to look forward to. Sloane was meeting with his contact Wednesday night, Los Angeles time, while the first game of the Kings season was the following night. They had agreed upon details just an hour before while Vaughn walked her to her car, sharing her frustration in being unable to be more hands on in working with Sloane. When they reached the car, he'd held her door open for her and smiled at her before she pulled out of the parking garage.  
  
"What's this about Syd?"  
  
"Michael," she whispered as her friend's eyes widened. "We're going out tomorrow."  
  
"Way to go Syd," Francie smiled and gently patted her friend's leg.   
  
"It's really not a big deal," Sydney protested, despite the butterflies of anticipation fluttering throughout her body. "We're just going to a hockey game."  
  
"I still think it sounds great."   
  
"It does, doesn't it?" she grinned as Francie laughed.  
  
"Wonderful even."   
  
"I don't want to rush Francie . . . "  
  
"He sounds like a nice guy Syd, I'm sure he won't hurt you -"  
  
"I don't want to hurt him," she explained. Not once had it crossed her mind that Michael Vaughn would hurt her. At least not intentionally. Perhaps it was faulty on her part - this Michael Vaughn wasn't entirely the man she once knew, but idea was one that seemed as unlikely as anything ever had.  
  
"You're not rushing him into a relationship, remember he asked you."  
  
"I remember," she smiled.   
  
Francie smiled and took a sip of her coffee. A moment later her gaze turned confused, "Do you even like hockey?"  
  
"It's not bad," she laughed. "I've been to a few games."  
  
"Really?" she was clearly surprised as Sydney nodded.  
  
"Really."  
  
"I don't remember that."  
  
Probably because you weren't there, Sydney thought. "It was awhile ago," she said instead. "Plus, I like the zamboni."  
  
"The zamboni?" Francie laughed. "The ice machine?"  
  
"It's neat!" she protested.   
  
"You must really like him," she commented. "You know, after the game, you might get hungry . . . You could always -"  
  
"Francie," Sydney laughed. "Isn't our first date a little early for you to determine whether or not he passes inspection?" she teased.  
  
"It's never too early," Francie insisted. "Seriously Syd," she started. "Have fun with this guy. This is your first date in well . . . a long time," she realized as her friend nodded. "I want you to have a great time. Just when you get home, call me and give me every little detail," she broke out into a grin as Sydney did the same.  
  
"I will," she promised. "How was the weekend away?" she questioned, eager to change the subject.   
  
"It was wonderful Syd. We went to this little bed and breakfast in the Napa Valley . . . We had such a nice time," she added and then shook her head.  
  
"What?"   
  
"Sometimes I think it should be weird, you know?" Francie looked to her friend, hoping she would understand. "Will and I were friends for so long . . . Now we're more, and I always thought it would be harder. I don't know, I guess I assumed if this ever happened it would you and Will, not Will and I . . . It's so easy to be with him like that. We have so much fun, and he really is so sweet."  
  
"I'm happy for you," she reached out and squeezed her hand. "For both of you. I think it's wonderful."  
  
"It has been so great," she agreed. "Now all we need is for you to find that with Michael."  
  
Sydney ducked her head as a small smile briefly graced her features. "Yeah."  
  
"Who knows, maybe a double wedding is in our future," Francie teased.  
  
She looked up and laughed, "A double wedding?" she questioned, images of The Brady Bunch floating through her consciousness. "No."  
  
"No," she agreed, both laughing good-naturedly. "Every detail?"  
  
"Every detail," Sydney vowed.  
  
"Work won't be a problem?"   
  
"Nope," she shook her head. "Not yet at least . . . We really haven't even gone out on a date yet."  
  
"You're a professional Syd. He must be too. I don't think it'll be a problem."  
  
Sydney smiled and nodded.   
  
Much to her amazement, Tuesday's workload allowed her to leave work at a reasonable time. Sydney paused only a moment at Vaughn's work station to say goodbye before she departed, looking forward to the night ahead of them. With plenty of time, she went languidly through the steps of her preparation. The music from the stereo in her living room carried in the apartment and even into the bathroom where she took the opportunity to enjoy a nice soak in her relatively unused bathtub. Thoughts of Sloane and his meeting in Rome, all the concerns that had trailed behind her through the work day evaporated into the air along with the bubbles she'd poured into the water in excess.  
  
Due to her "death", most of her wardrobe was new, but for that particular night she'd gone out and bought something to add to her already updated closet. As the minutes ticked by to his arrival, Sydney dressed and stopped herself from spending more time on her hair or applying make up than she usually did. This was Vaughn, and while it was the first date she'd had with him in two years - and the first date he'd ever had with her - she was determined not to present herself as anything she wasn't. Vaughn knew her well enough already, the good and the bad, even from the brief time they'd spent together since he'd retrieved her in Hong Kong. He would get her, just the basics of who she was, whether what developed between them would mirror what they'd once shared remained unseen, but Sydney refused to use smoke and mirrors to force their relationship to blossom.  
  
When the doorbell rang at quarter after six she almost jumped, although she'd been anticipating him all afternoon. Sydney walked to the door and only briefly checked the peephole before opening the door. "Hey," she smiled, meeting his eyes to find her expression mirrored there.  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Come on in," she moved over as he took a few steps into her place. "Did you find it okay?"  
  
"You have a beautiful place," he noted, looking around briefly before turning back to her. "I found it fine," Vaughn answered.  
  
"We should probably go."  
  
"Right," he grinned. He waited as she locked up her home and then fell into step beside her as they walked towards her car. "Are you alright?"  
  
"Why wouldn't I be?" she glanced over at him.  
  
"Sloane," he spoke the word quietly, with a venom Sydney didn't fully understand.   
  
"I'm fine," she promised. "Are you?"  
  
"Yeah," he nodded.   
  
"We'll know more soon," Sydney spoke, perhaps with more optimism than she felt. "I don't even believe it."   
  
"Rambaldi?" he questioned as she nodded. "Me either," he agreed, holding the car door open for her. A few moments later Vaughn slid into the driver's side and twisted the keys in the ignition. "This whole cross between Nostradamus and Da Vinci sounds like something my Aunt Trish would tell me. Don't get me wrong," he spoke casually, turning out of her parking lot as she listened attentively. "I love my Aunt Trish, but I find it difficult to believe most of what she tells me."  
  
"She worships crop circles?" she grinned.   
  
Vaughn looked over at her and chuckled. "Something like that," he confirmed.   
  
"The CIA believes it."  
  
"I think whatever Rambaldi prophesized has the CIA so scared that they can't risk not believing it," Vaughn theorized. "Not you Syd -"  
  
"I know," she nodded. "Have you read what Rambaldi said about me? Or at least the woman the CIA and the Covenant believe is me?"  
  
"Yes," his voice was strained. "You're not capable of it Sydney. It's not who you are."  
  
"How can you be sure Vaughn?" Sydney turned to study his profile. Sometimes, as she fought with insomnia and the twilight brought with it her fears and the weight of missing what she'd once had, Sydney wondered if perhaps Rambaldi was right.  
  
Vaughn turned his head to capture her gaze, "I believe in you," he said simply before he turned back to the road. Sydney sat back and closed her eyes briefly, remembering the car jarring over a speed bump as she struggled to get changed in a trunk while the man next to her raced her out of the country during a time that happened in another life. "C'mon Syd, I wouldn't give just anyone my second ticket to opening day," he jostled as she opened her eyes and laughed.   
  
There was something about the atmosphere at the Staples Center on opening day that was never quite duplicated at any of their other regular season home games. Vaughn parked the car and they made their way through the crowds. When he reached slightly behind him for her hand, Sydney tried only for a moment to convince herself it was a gesture to prevent them from losing each other in the crowd. After a moment whatever excuse she tried to feed herself failed and instead enjoyed the tiny intimacies that had so recently been commonplace.  
  
Sydney enjoyed the game, but more importantly she enjoyed the company. They laughed and joined in with their fellow fans, and for the walk into and out of the arena he held her hand in his. As they waded through the crowds back to the car, she listened as Vaughn began to deconstruct the game in a manner she remembered so fondly. His exuberant commentary continued throughout the car ride back to her house. By the time they arrived back in the parking lot, walking the pathway towards her front door, he'd winded down enough to turn to her and inquire about her favorite part.  
  
"The zamboni's your favorite part?" he laughed. Sydney grinned, opening the front door and turning back towards him, her free hand still holding his.  
  
"I like the zamboni," she shrugged happily. Under the fluorescent porch light their laughter died down as she briefly weighed her options. "Would you like to come in and have some coffee?"  
  
"Sure," he nodded, allowing her to gently tug his hand and walk with him into the dim apartment.   
  
"I'll start it," she offered, ending their contact as she walked over to turn on a lamp, the light in the room still dim. "Sit down," she waved off his silent offer to help as Vaughn shrugged off his jacket and took a seat at her compact kitchen table. "I set it up before I left, so it should only take a few minutes to perk," she explained. "Francie's going to kill me for not taking you to the restaurant for coffee," she murmured as she grabbed two coffee mugs out of the cabinet.  
  
Vaughn chuckled from his seat at the counter, his eyes following her as she moved around the room. "Why?"  
  
Sydney paused as she set the creamer down and looked at him. "She wants to meet you," she admitted, feeling her skin burn at how ridiculous it must sound. Before it had made sense, before he'd heard about Francie a million times and was as eager to meet her as Francie had been to meet him. This time around, her friend's rush to meet the mysterious guy from work seemed a bit silly.  
  
"Sure, when?" he replied casually.  
  
She was pouring the hot liquid into their respective mugs when she stopped to look at him. "Vaughn, really, Francie's just being -"  
  
"Francie's being Francie?" he pointed out. Vaughn stood and walked over to help her prepare their coffee. "Sydney, she's your friend. Everyone spent the last two years believing you were dead. It's justifiable that they are being a little overprotective," he assured her as they took seats next to one another at the counter.  
  
"She's being nosey, Will will be overprotective," she corrected, taking a small sip of her coffee. After a moment she looked over at him and caught his eye. "Really Vaughn, I don't want to push you . . . this," she gestured to the small space between them. "Actually, everything in my life right now is so new. Will and Francie can come on strong, I don't want -"  
  
"You're not pushing me Syd," he stopped her. "What about dinner this weekend?" he suggested. Less than a moment later Vaughn quickly continued, "Unless this is too fast for you. After everything with Danny, and you are still adjusting to being back -"  
  
"No," Sydney shook her head. "It's not about Danny," she briefly looked down at the warm coffee in her hands and considered her words. When she continued, her voice was low and he leaned slightly closer to hear. "I've learned a lot, being back. As horrible as it sounds, it's really helped to put things into perspective. One thing I've learned is that some connections last," she turned, finding his eyes as soft as she ever remembered them being. Despite her mixed emotions, Sydney smiled and realized he was different around her. Even in the beginning Vaughn had been different around her than the rest of the world. He'd hold her gaze a bit longer, his eyes would find hers without hesitation and his gaze would rarely be anything less than warm. Even his voice would alter when he spoke to her, something so unconscious that meant so much. "Francie and Will . . . my parents . . . They're the relationships that have held up, that two years really can't destroy," she continued, her voice still low. "Danny . . . two years just proved that in the end it wouldn't have worked out anyway."  
  
"I'm sorry," he spoke softly and reached for her hand.  
  
Sydney smiled and shook her head, "don't be. What I meant to say Vaughn is I'm fine. Really. Danny and I . . . We're through," she spoke the words far easier than she thought she would. "I'll always care for him, and I only want the best for him, but we're not a part of each other's lives anymore. There's not a place for me in his life now, or a place for him in mine and maybe it's best that way."  
  
"Okay," he nodded.  
  
"So, Saturday?" she grinned, aware that to Francie the less than weeks wait to meet him would seem to stretch out for a lifetime.  
  
"Saturday," Vaughn nodded. She took a sip of her coffee again and looked over as he chuckled uneasily. "I never really met any of Lauren's friends," he conceded. Sydney put down her mug and gently squeezed his hand, listening as he spoke. "She never really met any of mine either, besides Weiss. We had very separate lives," he conceded, his head dropping as he quickly squeezed the bridge of his nose. "We were married but our lives were so separate. Hell, we worked together and at times we still seemed to have entirely separate lives," he realized. "I loved her," he whispered, "but our marriage wasn't what I always imagined my marriage would be."  
  
"Vaughn -"  
  
"Syd," he looked at her, easily reading her concern. "I'm fine. Lauren's gone. I loved her, but she's gone and the world goes on. I'm fine," he repeated. "I want to meet your friends."  
  
"Okay," Sydney smiled brightly. "We'll go to Francie's restaurant. She likes to have home court advantage," she playfully remarked as he laughed.  
  
"Good," he nodded. Regretfully he looked at his watch and back at her. "I should probably -"  
  
"Yeah," she agreed as they stood. "Thank you," she said as they walked to the door.  
  
"Thanks for coming," he turned as they stopped in front of the door and faced each other. Vaughn reached out, this time taking both of her hands into his. Sydney's eyes slid shut as he leaned closer and pressed his lips to her forehead. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers as her eyes opened.   
  
"Tomorrow?" she whispered, the smile on her face small but her features glowing.  
  
"Yeah," he smiled, squeezing her hands one more time before he pulled back and she let him out the door. 


	10. Chapter 9

Authors note: Any and all mistakes are clearly mine. Dae's great but I do make mistakes when I go back & act on her editing. Unfortunately I wasn't able to act on all of her suggestions this time around - not because she wasn't right (remember, to write is human, to edit is divine :)) but because I'm having one hell of a bout with my muse and as a result the writing isn't always there.   
  
Chapter Nine  
  
"There are days when I hate my job," Sydney sighed as she walked into the restaurant the next evening.  
  
"You love your job," Francie retorted, not even looking up as she worked on the restaurant's books.   
  
"Yeah," she agreed and sank into a chair. It wasn't the CIA or her job she hated, it was Sloane.  
  
"So," Francie looked up from her work. "How was last night?"  
  
"Nice," she smiled. "Really nice."  
  
"When do I get to meet him?"  
  
"How about dinner here Saturday?"  
  
"Really?" her friend replied, clearly pleasantly surprised.   
  
"Really," Sydney laughed.   
  
"Sure! That'd be great! I'll make sure we have some White Chocolate Cheesecake. You know it's one of our specialties," she grinned before eagerly returning to her inquiry. "Tell me more about last night."  
  
"We went to the game," she shrugged. "After that I invited him for coffee."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Just coffee!" she insisted. "We talked for a little while, about the game and everything . . . "  
  
"You really like him."  
  
"I do," she agreed. "He sent me flowers." As the words passed her lips Sydney tipped her head slightly, her hair falling in front of her face. The smile that crossed her face was small but significant as she remembered the thoughtful albeit unexpected appearance of the delivery boy earlier.  
  
"What?"  
  
"This morning. Before I left the house, he had flowers sent to me, to thank me for coming with him and the coffee."  
  
"I can't believe he agreed to meet Will and I after only one date," she mused, turning her attention back to the bookkeeping.   
  
"Me either," Sydney muttered. "Although it'll be after two dates. Sort of."  
  
Francie's head snapped back up, "what?"   
  
"There's another Kings game Friday."  
  
"Your going out again? Twice in one week?" she questioned, clearly impressed.  
  
"No. I mean yes, we're seeing each other again, but we're not going out," she corrected. "I invited him over to watch the Kings game. He's bringing the Chinese."   
  
"That's so sweet."  
  
"Francie, it's just watching television -"  
  
"Really Syd, it's too sweet," Francie insisted. "I can't wait to meet him."  
  
Sydney smiled, imagining a meeting far better than their last, where Francie was legitimately excited - perhaps too excited - but it would be better than the clone she'd unknowingly introduced Vaughn to. "Me too," she replied and returned to her coffee as Francie worked more on her bookkeeping.  
  
Friday evening found her anxiously sitting on her sofa, waiting his arrival. Their briefing had run unexpectedly late as Kendall seemed intent on rehashing every detail of what they'd already known for weeks. Even with Kendall's delays, Sydney was relieved to see they were out in time to see the Kings game, and was now only hoping Vaughn would arrive in time for the start. She'd already flipped her television to ESPN and struggled to remain patient until she heard his knock.  
  
"Hey," she smiled and opened the door. To no surprise he looked as appealing and inviting as ever in the jeans and t-shirt she knew he'd just picked without much thought. That was one of the greatest things about Vaughn - he was happiest just being comfortable, in a t-shirt and jeans he'd owned since college. Which worked fine with Sydney, because that's when she loved him the most, when he was free of any pretense or concern.   
  
"Chinese." Vaughn quickly held up the bag as she nodded and moved out of the way. "Has it started?" he glanced quickly at the television and back at her.  
  
"Not yet," she assured him. "We should get some plates and forks before it does though," Sydney suggested as he followed her into the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?"  
  
"I'll grab it," he answered as he walked towards her fridge. Sydney stood on the other half of the room, grabbing the necessary plates, forks, and a small handful of napkins. When she turned around and saw Vaughn inspecting the contents of her refrigerator, she crossed the room to stand slightly behind him, her chin nearly brushing his shoulder.   
  
"There's some wine," she quietly suggested. Vaughn glanced over at her, catching her eye and briefly surprised by her close proximity. When his gaze didn't waiver she found herself smiling and felt her skin on fire. "What?" For a moment neither of them moved as she watched his eyes briefly slip from hers, looking slowly up and down her body out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't until he looked straight into her eyes again that Sydney caught her breathe and remembered this wasn't before and locking the two of them away in her bedroom for the night wasn't an option.   
  
"You're beautiful," he whispered with the reverence she'd once known. Before Sydney could respond, his hand seemed to slip instinctively to her waist and his lips brushed against hers. Vaughn was tentative, only responding when he felt her returning his gesture. After a brief, relatively chaste kiss, they broke apart. Her grin remained as he stayed close, his nose brushing against hers while he finally spoke. "Wine?"   
  
Reluctantly Sydney pulled out of his orbit, still smiling. "I'll get the glasses," she offered as he grabbed the wine and the food and went to wait for her in the living room.  
  
For a handful of hours, as the Kings battled out a victory, they hardly left the sofa. Once the Chinese containers were empty she placed them aside and willingly sat closer to him. They talked quietly to one another during the game, comments mostly related to the game they were watching. Vaughn's arm was resting comfortably on her shoulder as the pair watched. Sydney asked questions, mostly seeking clarifications for things she'd never fully understood. Once in awhile they'd even make the other one laugh, playfully mocking commercials and at times even the Kings opponent.  
  
Even though Sydney insisted she could do it, Vaughn still accompanied her into the kitchen after the game. The room remained silent as they worked together easily. He put the containers in the trash and put the remainder of the wine back where it belonged. Sydney stood over the sink, washing the plates, glasses, and forks they'd used as he crossed the room to stand next to her. As she finished the last plate, she looked over and smiled at him, leaning up and meeting him halfway for another kiss.   
  
"Do you want to watch some television?" she questioned, drying her hands on the dishtowel Vaughn handed her.   
  
"Let's see what's on," he agreed. She led him back into the living room, grabbing the remote and sank comfortably into the sofa cushions.   
  
Less than a second after they walked back in, she changed the channel, having little interest in ESPN's post-game edition of Sportscenter. What she found caused her to stop and smiled as Vaughn sat down on the floor in front of the couch. "Hey! It's MASH!!" she gestured enthusiastically to the television screen. Pausing only a moment to laugh at the comedy, she continued, "I love this show."  
  
"It's good," he agreed, glancing back at her.  
  
"Vaughn, you can sit up here," she insisted, pausing to yawn. There would be no point in denying her fatigue, but Sydney was in no rush for Vaughn to leave. While she knew it was too soon for him to spend the night, she couldn't help but wish he could.   
  
"Lay down Syd, I'm fine," he brushed her off. Vaughn continued to look at her pointedly until she curled down onto the sofa, a throw pillow under her head.   
  
"Don't go yet," she stated, her eyes half shut as another yawn escaped her. Even as she struggled to stay awake her mind easily traveled back to a time that hardly seemed so long ago. For some reason or another Sydney always seemed to fall asleep before Vaughn did so she'd become used to his sound. Not only his breathing but everything from his fingers running across a keyboard to the sound of his feet against her bedroom floor as he picked up or showered or just changed for the evening.   
  
For a moment she thought about the first time she fell asleep in his company. Sydney had been so afraid that her stubborn nature had backfired and not only complicated her life but hurt him. While the possibility of being infected with the virus from the Rambaldi ball found in Taipei didn't appeal to her it didn't scare her nearly half as badly as the thought of Vaughn coming down with it. So they'd been ordered into quarantine together where she'd fallen asleep, aware of his eyes on her and woke up to realize he'd discovered she occasionally talked in her sleep. The smile on his face when she'd woke up was enough to lend a new intimacy to their escalating relationship. As difficult as it had been, Sydney knew some part of her perhaps didn't miss the circumstances of that world but instead the bumps along the road and the successes that she and Vaughn had shared.   
  
"I'm right here Syd," he whispered, moving briefly to turn off the table lamp before he returned to his seat.  
  
If he'd ever been asked, he would have gladly admitted that this was his favorite part of domesticity. The quiet moments at the end of the day when the lights were out and conversation was often nonsensical. These were the moments that had been so difficult to achieve with Lauren as their respective careers had them ricocheting across the worlds often in different directions. For a brief moment he realized how different his late wife had been from the woman getting comfortable in front of him and then he quickly chastized himself for even making the comparision. Still she'd enjoyed going out and traveling. In fact on more than one occasion they'd had spats about his desire to stay home and watch hockey or play with the dogs while she'd prefer to go out. So on the rare occasion when she'd slow down enough and their lives would seem briefly dull, Vaughn would enjoy a few minutes of end-of-the-day domesticity with the woman he'd married. When he'd lost her months earlier he'd been certain he'd never experience them again. After everything he'd been through Vaughn had been sure he'd never want to risk losing someone again. Then Sydney Bristow reappeared from the dead and once again everything changed.   
  
Vaughn sat there, listening to the show and sound of her laughter. After a commercial break her laughter had disappeared and all he heard behind him was the subtle sound of her breathing. He remained still for a little while longer, making sure his amusement with the show did nothing to disturb her. When the program ended he slowly turned around and looked at her. Sydney was bathed in nothing but the blue hue from the television as the beginning of another MASH played out on the screen. She was beautiful, perhaps even fragile, such a contrast from the woman he remembered nearly damaging his internal organs in Hong Kong. This is not a woman who needed someone to take care of her, and he imagined she never had been. Even so he couldn't help but wonder if she was someone who wished for comfort once in awhile, instead of always being the strong one.  
  
Exactly how much time passed as he sat there studying her Vaughn was uncertain, although he suspected it might have been as long as half an hour. When he looked over at the clock again he realized it was far later than it should have been. Perhaps he shouldn't have stayed and indulged himself in the guilty pleasure of watching her at such ease, but it had been something he imagined gave her as much comfort as it did him. It felt like an eternity since (repetitive) he'd been so taken with a woman that it was enough to sit and watch her breathe. This woman was willingly inviting him into her closely-knit world, allowing him in possibly sooner than he deserved, but he was certain he wanted to stay there.  
  
"Syd," he whispered, reaching out and lightly tugging her nose. A small smile reached his features as her eyes slowly opened.  
  
"Hmm? Vaughn?"  
  
"Yeah," he watched her blink a few times and her eyes open slightly. "I'm going to go. It's late."  
  
"Okay," she smiled and held the pillow tighter under her head.   
  
"I'll lock up on my way out, and I'll call you in the morning," he vowed, slowly standing up, his left knee creaking, cursing his body for aging far faster than it was ready to. He was in no way unfit or out of shape, but there were moments when he was reminded that sitting on a hard floor for a few hours was probably not among the best ideas, not when he was as tired as he was. Once on his feet Vaughn looked down at her for a moment before he bent over and kissed her forehead, lingering a bit longer than necessary. "Sweet dreams Syd," he whispered before he quietly walked out of the house, making sure the door was locked behind him.   
  
Sydney had discovered that her job prevented her from being really a morning or a night person. Instead for years she'd been trained to simply be ready at all times of the day for whatever could or would be thrown her way. Still she enjoyed the ability to wake up slowly, the light through the living room window rousing her from her slumber. The room was quiet, the television on but nearly muted as she stretched on the sofa and sat up.  
  
The morning was hers alone as she padded through the house, catching up on errands and eating a small breakfast. Once her chores were done she drove to the track and ran, her mind going faster than her feet. As much as she hated to admit it, Sloane had been right. This may have been a different universe, but some things hadn't changed. For one the man who forced her into this world was still as evil as she ever imagined, and no one would convince her otherwise. Her relationship with her parents, while not as twisted as it had once been, was far from stress-free either. This incarnation of Laura Bristow was a woman she didn't quite know how to deal with, and even the slight differences in Jack's character were unnerving. Then there was Vaughn. This world, for all its headaches and heartbreaks and constant questions, had still given her Vaughn. Theirs was not exactly a clean slate - she should have been getting over Danny while he was certainly still allowed to ache over Lauren. Even so from time to time she wondered how he could have grieved so passionately for a woman who he claimed had an entirely separate life from his, but he was grieving nonetheless.   
  
As wonderful as their kiss the night before had been, they were more chaste than passionate, a tiny stepping stone as opposed to leaping into a relationship. She'd done that once before, and it had worked beautifully at the time. That was a whole other universe though, where he'd had the time to get to know her soul before they became more. Plus it wouldn't have been fair to rush into something with him, not yet, not when his wife had been dead less than half a year and while Sydney still was left at times wondering who she was.  
  
He made it simple though, and at times she almost wished he didn't have that ability. Vaughn made it simple and easy and understandable to loathe Sloane. He trusted her instincts so strongly that he believed her about Sloane, although she couldn't imagine what he could possibly have against the man outside of the same instinct she felt. He'd been there to soothe her transition into the CIA, to get her any information he could to answer her questions, and what she hated most of all was that while she was quickly falling more in love with him there was still so much she hadn't yet told him. Worst of all, she wasn't sure she ever would.  
  
The problem was she'd done that once - used the truth only when it was convenient to her. Admittedly comparing her relationship with Danny to what she shared with Vaughn was unfair to all involved, but it had taught her one thing. Truth wasn't something that could be used sparingly or when it best suited the user. Their relationship, as young as it was, was as alive as they were. Her only fear was that she'd never have it in her to tell anyone the truth and then one day they'd reach a place where her lies and her secrets will kill what they have. Sydney had lost Danny once. Losing Vaughn would leave her with nothing.  
  
On that morning she convinced herself it was too early to worry about such things. Everything in this world was so new and fresh to her, exposing her soul to Vaughn should have been the least of her worries. Instead Sydney looked forward to the night ahead of them. She'd spent literally years wanting Vaughn and Francie to meet and now, finally, it would be happening. This time her friend could sincerely share in her joy while Will would surely badger him. All parts of her life were coming together after trying for so long to put the best parts of her world together.  
  
Sydney was getting comfortable on her sofa, a salad in her lap and a rented DVD poised to play, when the phone rang. Annoyed she reached for the cordless and put it to her ear. She'd still had a luxurious afternoon planned, including a bath, before she expected Vaughn to arrive. "Hello?"  
  
"How'd you sleep?"  
  
Her aggravation slipped away, replaced by a smile, "Good. Thank you. I'm sorry for falling asleep on you."  
  
"Actually you fell asleep on the sofa, not me," Vaughn teased. "It was fine Syd. You were tired."  
  
"I didn't realize how tired I was," she admitted. With Vaughn there the night before she'd slipped into a comfort zone she rarely inhabited, her guard down and claiming sleep had been easier than it had been since she woke up in Hong Kong.   
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Eating lunch," she replied. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Just finished hockey practice," Vaughn explained as she smiled.   
  
"I want to see you play."  
  
"Soon," he assured her. "We're still having dinner with Will and Francie tonight?"  
  
"Is that a problem?"  
  
"No. I'm looking forward to it. I just wanted to make sure the plans hadn't changed," Vaughn was quick to put her fears to rest.   
  
"No changes," Sydney promised.   
  
They spoke for a few minutes, cementing plans before she hung up. Sydney enjoyed the time she had to prepare, taking care of such house errands at paying her bills and doing a load of laundry before spending some time enjoying a hot soak in the tub. As she was starting to get ready for the evening her preparations were halted by a brief conversation with an excited Francie until she convinced her friend to hang up the phone. Her best friend's bubbly enthusiasm was contagious and she found herself smiling despite whatever small fears she might have had.  
  
The doorbell rang just as the clock chimed two minutes before she was expecting him. Sydney smiled as she walked towards the door, thankful for his persistent sense of punctuality. There were no butterflies of anxiety, just a settled feeling of happiness as she opened the door and saw him standing there. Vaughn looked casual without being sloppy, and she'd always enjoyed the look created when he wore his black button down shirt under his leather jacket.  
  
"Hey," she smiled, moving to allow him entry.  
  
"Hey," Vaughn grinned. Briefly she noted his caution before he leaned took half a step closer. Before Sydney could react he'd placed a gentle hand on her hip and leaned forward, briefly kissing her cheek. "You look nice," he complimented.  
  
"Thank you," she replied.   
  
"Ready to go?" he questioned. Sydney grabbed a light jacket before she slipped her hand into his and walked with him out of her apartment.  
  
Their conversation was light on the brief drive, discussing hockey and how Francie's large collection of recipes eventually led her to opening a restaurant. She smiled as he parked, and then came around the car in time to open her door, their hands joining instinctively. They entered the restaurant, walking by a small group of people on their way out, evidence that Saturday was one of the restaurant's busiest nights. As they walked in Sydney caught the eye of the restaurant's manager, one of Francie's friends from business school, who directed them to a table in a quiet corner of the restaurant where Will and Francie were waiting.  
  
"Hey," Francie greeted as she and Will stood to greet them.   
  
Sydney smiled in return and then turned to Vaughn, "Francie, Will, this is Michael."   
  
Francie's grin seemed infectious to everyone but Will, whose expression was a cross between weariness and suspicion as he seemed to take in the newest man in Sydney's life. "It's very nice to meet you both," Vaughn replied as he shook both of their hands. "This place is wonderful. I love the color and it smells great," he commented, helping Sydney into her seat before taking his own.  
  
"Thank you," Francie replied as they all got comfortable at the table. "Syd's told us a bit about you. You work for the government?"  
  
"Yeah," he nodded. "My father's been with the State Department for as long as I can remember, so government service is always something that I gave a lot of thought to. So, when they called, I answered," he shrugged with a half smile as the waitress came to take their orders.   
  
"That must be exciting," Francie suggested.   
  
"It's a good job," he agreed.  
  
"You're what, an analyst?" Will questioned. "Sit behind a desk and try to decipher what people like James Bond go out and get."   
  
"Will," Francie scolded in a low voice as Sydney took a sip of her wine and tried not to roll her eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry," he looked back at Vaughn. "I just can't imagine you as James Bond," he shrugged. As she sat next to Vaughn, Sydney wondered if Will would ever be able to wrap his mind around all that she did and how very far from James Bond espionage really was.  
  
"I did some field," Vaughn explained.   
  
"So," Francie jumped in, eager to change the topic of conversation. "Sydney says you like to play pool."   
  
"In some of my free time," he shrugged.  
  
"We should play some time," Will off handedly suggested, to the surprise of all at the table.  
  
Vaughn's lips curved slightly as he shook his head and seemed to study the tablecloth, "I'm not sure that's a good idea."   
  
"Hey, it's fine if you haven't played in awhile, I'll give you a break," he added.  
  
"Okay," he glanced back up, his expression nearly blank. "We'll play sometime," he agreed.   
  
"Actually, Vaughn's favorite sport is hockey," Sydney said.  
  
"Really? I play a little hockey every once in awhile," Will replied.   
  
Francie looked at him curiously, "You do?"  
  
"I do," he answered quickly.   
  
"Okay," she shot back skeptically.  
  
"I played for a little while before I joined the CIA," Vaughn shrugged.   
  
"You played in college?" Francie questioned.  
  
"Well, yes," he answered. "I played in the minor leagues for a year before I went to law school."   
  
"Really?" Sydney looked at him, clearly surprised. The man she'd known before had never played in the minor leagues or on any professional hockey team, much to his own disappointment, and had played college hockey as a walk on, not a scholarship player.  
  
"Yeah," he glanced at her with a wide smile. "I wasn't very good, and I didn't even play for the King's minor league franchise, but I played."  
  
"I ran track in college," Will commented.  
  
"You weren't very good," Francie reminded him lightly.   
  
"No, I wasn't," he agreed. "That's how I met Syd and Francie," he explained to Vaughn.  
  
"You ran track in college?" Vaughn glanced at Sydney, clearly surprised.  
  
"Cross country," she corrected. Another tidbit she never would have known if it hadn't been for a few pictures in her parent's living room. Yes she'd been good enough to run on the cross country team as a college student but in the life she remembered living she'd been too focused on what she thought was saving the world to have much time or interest in extracurricular activities. If her parent's photos were any indication, in this life she'd also found time to get involved in the University's drama department and do some volunteer work as well. All wonderful, fulfilling activities that she'd never been able to get involved in during the life she remembered.   
  
"She coached the girl's team at St. Jude's too. One of her players went to Stanford on a cross-country scholarship," Francie added proudly. In her seat Sydney could only silently smile, not quite sure how to feel about all of the accomplishments she'd supposedly piled up in this world. What she was certain of, however, was that Stanford had one of the best cross country programs in the country and a scholarship there was nothing to sneeze at.  
  
"You were so happy there," Will said quietly. "You could go back. You could be an assistant coach, or a substitute teacher -"  
  
"Will, please," Sydney stopped him.   
  
"What? You're really going to play James Bond your whole life?"   
  
"I don't know," she leaned in close, her voice growing low and with an edge. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do for the rest of my life but this is what I'm doing now. I know you and my parents wish I was back at St. Jude, but I'm not so just stop it."   
  
"Sydney has the most potential of any agent I've ever seen," Vaughn spoke quietly in her defense.   
  
Before Will could find a comeback the waitress appeared, quietly placing their meals in front of them and asking if there was anything they needed. With the thankful break in the conversation Francie took the initiative to again try to turn the conversation to friendlier topics. "Michael, are you from California originally?"  
  
"I was born in France," he explained. "This food is wonderful," he complimented as Francie smiled widely. After a moment Vaughn continued. "My mother's from France originally, but her father did a lot of work for the government so she grew up between France and D.C. We lived between her village in Normandy and D.C. until we moved here when I was three. When I was growing up we'd visit Normandy during the summer and some holidays, but I've spent most of my life around Los Angeles."  
  
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Francie inquired.  
  
"I have two sisters. Charlotte and Suzanne," he replied. Sydney tried not to seem too surprised. They'd never discussed families, nothing beyond her own parent's concern with her working at the CIA, but while she remembered his older sister Charlotte she never remembered a sister named Suzanne.   
  
"Will's the only one of us who has a sibling," Francie continued. "Amy's a bit younger than he is. Are you the oldest?"  
  
"No," he shook his head. "Charlotte's eighteen months older and Suzanne's fourteen years younger."  
  
"Fourteen years?" Will's eyes widened as Vaughn chuckled. Sydney listened carefully, a sudden guilt twisting at the realization that Suzanne was the baby that William Vaughn was able to have with his wife in a world where her mother hadn't killed him.   
  
"She was my parent's 'surprise' baby," he smirked. "She's a good kid though. She just graduated college and moved to Massachusetts."  
  
"Are you close to your family?"   
  
"Relatively," Vaughn shrugged. Sydney was amazed at the ease in which he was floating through Francie's obvious inquisition. Briefly she wondered if the CIA's security background was as insistent. "I see my father around the office. He's a director overseeing a few of my cases, and I talk to my mother usually once every few weeks," he explained. "Will, Syd said you're a reporter?"   
  
"Yeah," he answered, surprised at the shift in conversation back on him. "I'm not exactly covering the headlines, but I've had several stories on the front page."   
  
"He's won a few awards as well. A few years ago he won an award for best human interest story," Sydney explained proudly.  
  
"Really?" Vaughn glanced at the other man as Will nodded. "What was the story about?"  
  
"A migrant farmer. He was being controlled by just a horrible man. He barely gave them enough food and water, he was happy controlling every aspect of their world, but this man learned how to read, then he taught the rest of them how to read. They were able to read about the rights and opportunities given to them, and eventually they were able to leave and create better lives for themselves, and right now this man is in prison."   
  
"That's a great story," he commented.  
  
"It was really inspirational," Will agreed.   
  
"He's covered some bizarre stuff," Francie commented.  
  
"Really?" Vaughn spoke with a half smile. "Such as?"  
  
Francie leaned over and placed a hand on her boyfriend's arm, "can I?" she questioned as Will shrugged. "My favorite was this woman he wrote about probably . . . four years ago," she considered before she continued. "Will wrote a story about a woman who was pregnant and she was craving newspaper. Literally, she would eat newspaper. I guess it was some legitimate condition but it's still the most bizarre thing I've ever seen," she chuckled as the three others joined her.  
  
"I remember that," Sydney agreed. "That was weird."  
  
"Every reporter covers some weird stories before they make it big. It's part of the territory," Will explained defensively.   
  
"It was a good story," his best friend was quick to assure him.  
  
Francie chuckled, "Just weird."  
  
Their food arrived as they continued to talk. Much to Vaughn's amusement Francie and Will were full of stories of Sydney's years growing up. She remained quiet, at times as wrapped up in her friend's accounts of her own youth as she was in her date for the evening. Much to her own relief Sydney found that she remembered experiencing most of the stories her friends shared, picking up details here and there of how the memories differed. After all that she didn't remember, it was nice to still share so much with her two best friends.   
  
"I hope Will forgets about playing pool," Vaughn confessed, putting his belt buckle into place and turning the car engine on. They'd walked away from Will and Francie mere minutes before at the end of a nice dinner. Sydney had felt at ease as the four of them had slipped into friendship she'd once known.   
  
She looked at him, studying his expression in the dark car as he started to pull out of the parking space. "Why?"   
  
"I almost didn't join the CIA," he began to explain, tossing a brief glance her way. "Instead I almost became a pool hustler."  
  
"Vaughn," she laughed as he grinned widely. "I don't want to say Will's horrible . . . You can't play him," she laughed lightly.  
  
"I won't," he promised. "Your friends are great."  
  
Sydney smiled widely and looked out the window, remembering some of the more embarrassing moments of their many stories. "They are. I am sorry about how Will acted when we first got here," she added.  
  
"Don't worry about it Sydney."  
  
"Thank you for coming."  
  
"I had fun," he assured her. "Francie's restaurant is great. I've never even heard of some of the food on the menu but everything from there smells spectacular."   
  
"Yeah, it is," she agreed.   
  
"So," Vaughn began as they neared her place. "What are you doing Wednesday?"  
  
"I don't think I'm doing anything, why?"  
  
"Wednesday is supposed to be my hockey night," he started to explain. "Except this week we're meeting on Thursday. I want to get some time on the ice anyway, and I wondered if you'd want to come."  
  
The smile that had yet to disappear from her face only grew wider and the twinkle her in eye more pronounced as he parked the car and met her eyes. "I'd like that."   
  
Quietly he got out of the car and met Sydney on her side, holding her hand as they walked towards her front door. "Would you like to come in and have some coffee?" she offered as they arrived at her door.  
  
"I shouldn't," he explained. Vaughn took only a moment to read the disappointed expression on her features and continued, "I can't. I'm supposed to be at my sister's early tomorrow to help my father and brother in law build a shed."   
  
"Okay," she nodded. Sydney studied him closely for a second, suddenly struck by an overwhelming fear of losing him again. He barely had a moment to react before she was in his arms, holding him tightly, her eyes shut as she held him close. They were already so close to sharing the sacred relationship she'd once known, and she wondered how she'd react if they couldn't make it work in this world. So for a few moments Sydney enjoyed the muffled sound of his heart and the steady pattern of his breathing. Vaughn was there, with her, in the only moment she could control. It wasn't everything and they were far away from guarantees and lifetimes but it was enough to make Sydney believe she had something back that she'd nearly lost.   
  
"I'll call you tomorrow?" he questioned with a low voice as he pulled away.   
  
"That'd be nice," she smiled. Vaughn's eyes closely followed hers for a moment before he leaned in and kissed her. This time their contact was hardly brief and even when they broke off from the initial contact his lips brushed lightly against hers a few times. Finally he pulled back, his expression mirroring hers, leaving her certain that one day soon there'd be more. "Bye," she called, walking into the house and closing the door behind her. 


	11. Chapter 10

The air rising from the ice was colder than she remembered, Sydney realized as she took a tentative step into the deserted rink. Vaughn was already out there, gliding easily over the surface. Some song she was certain he loved played blared on the public announcement system as she watched him for a moment. This was him in his glory, at ease in a way that perhaps few people got to see. Hockey had always had a way of making Vaughn slightly giddy, and his eagerness had always spilled over so easily into her veins.

"Syd, are you coming?" he called impatiently from the ice. "Do you need some help?" he offered, skating closer to her as she held a hand out to stop him.

"I'm not totally incompetent," she grinned, stepping onto the ice and gliding easily to his side, the hockey stick in her hand.

"I didn't think you knew how to skate," Vaughn said, skating in small circles around her, moving the puck easily as his eyes remained on her.

"My mom used to take me," she explained.

"How long ago was that?"

Sydney shrugged, "Years. I have a fast learning curve though, and a long memory." 

"Well," he stopped in front of her. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to beat you Bristow," he teased with a familiar half smile on his face.

"Give it your best shot," she bantered back.

"Okay," he smiled and then looked at the net in front of them. "The trick is balance. Once you're balanced, just plant your feet and aim," he explained, sending the puck into the goal with a swift flick of his wrist. "Give it a shot," he said, skating to the net and sliding the puck back to her before he stood blocking the net.

She smiled at him for a moment before starting to skate and shuffling the puck without looking. It only took a moment as she quickly approached him and twisted her wrist, sending the puck flying past him. Sydney began to laugh at the shocked look that broke out over his face before she skated into his arms.

"I thought you've never played!"

"I just told you I have a fast learning curve," she pulled back, smiling widely. Not surprisingly, a matching grin had broken out over Vaughn's face as well.

"Apparently a very fast learning curve," he agreed. Neither moved for a moment, instead smiling at one another.

Something briefly sparked in Vaughn's eyes, something sad and nearly nostaglic that stirred concern in Sydney. "What?"

He looked at her closely before he shook his head and chuckled, "nothing."

"Are you sure?" she asked. She thought hockey hadn't been something he'd shared with Lauren, but the flashing look in his eyes caused Sydney to briefly wonder.

Whatever it was had disappeared, replaced by a grin of joy as Vaughn nodded. "I'm sure Syd," he promised.

Sydney smiled at him and shrugged, "okay," she agreed. Then a moment later she skated away, slyly taking the puck with her.

"Syd!" Vaughn playfully protested.

"Sorry," she laughed as she skated away.

Vaughn chuckled despite himself. "This is war now, you realize that, right?" he grinned, his eyes sparkling.

"Let's go," she shot back playfully.

They stayed inside the cold rink for hours, the blood pumping rapidly through their veins keeping them warm. While he joked that she was already better at this than he was, Vaughn took the opportunity to teach her various tricks he'd learned over the years only to joyfully beat her while using them. Syd listened to his anecdotal accounts of hockey games he'd played and memorable games he'd seen or attended over the years. She'd take the opportunity to bump into him or against him from time to time, certain he did the same with her.

"Do your sisters like hockey?" Sydney asked.

"Suzie loves hockey but Char's more into baseball," he conceded. He glanced over at her, his lips half quirked and his dimples deep before he confided, "I manipulated Suzie into liking hockey."

She couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Vaughn manipulating anyone in his personal life. The image went against almost everything he was as a person. They both manipulated enough situations and people in their professional lives to have it spill over into their relationships. "How?"

"I'd come home from college and she'd want to do something with me, so I always took her to a hockey game or to the rink. Took a few tries but eventually she liked it."

"I'm sure she just loved spending time with you," Sydney insisted. "There were times when I felt lonely growing up . . . I had my parents," she was quick to add. In fact most of her childhood memories involved her long-time nanny. She'd had friends but her nanny had been her one and only pillar of consistency. Even years later, at least in the world she remembered, she kept in touch with the woman. "I always wanted a brother or sister."

"You should have told your parents," he suggested.

She considered it for a minute and then replied, "I think I did." In fact Sydney had a few scattered memories of making such comments to her mother shortly before her presumed 'death'. She could only assume she would have done the same in this universe.

"It's a blessing and a curse. Char and I are so close and than the age gap between us and Suzie . . . We always tried to help her out, be there for her, but sometimes I knew she had to be lonely. I mean how could she not be? Although she did get the best bedroom for most of her life."

Sydney joined him in his laughter. "It had to be tough, especially since she saw you and Charlotte had always had each other," she agreed. "If I ever have children I don't think I'd want just one. There are certainly benefits to being an only child but sometimes it's just so sad."

"Most of the time I think my life was easier because of Charlotte instead of harder. She certainly helped me with girls, especially in high school," he mused. "Oh, and algebra. I hated algebra, and of course I was cramming for my first algebra final when we had a newborn in the house," he recalled with a slight shake of his head. "If Char hadn't been around to drive me to the library and help me through it, I'm not sure I would have passed that class." 

She smiled at his anecdote, "She sounds great."

"She is," Vaughn agreed. "I still spend every Thanksgiving with her. With my entire family," he conceded.

"That's the point of Thanksgiving," Sydney said. She wished she could comment on this, but her memories of Thanksgiving were hardly cheerful and the ones that were enjoyable were only so because of Will and Francie's friendship. In this world, at least, she'd hoped her familial relationships had fared better.

"My sister and mother love to cook. My mother makes meals big enough to feed the Kings and the Mets and has for as long as I can remember. Eric usually comes and we still have leftovers," he grinned.

"It sounds nice."

"It is," he agreed. "You're very good you know," he complimented.

"What?" she questioned, smiling at him despite her confusion.

"Hockey. You weren't kidding when you said you had a fast learning curve," Vaughn grinned.

"Thanks," she responded. "So why did you start playing hockey?"

He shrugged, easily playing with the puck, "My dad loves hockey. Growing up I'm pretty sure Char and I thought the only thing on television during the winter was the evening news and hockey games. Plus he traveled a lot, so I would watch the games so I'd have plenty to tell him when he called."

"I played piano," she admitted. Vaughn looked back at her, an adorable half smile on his face as he silently prompted her. "My dad traveled a lot too. I didn't mind when I was younger, the extra time with my mom . . ." she remembered. In truth, what memories she had of Jack traveling while Laura was around were never too traumatic. Her mother had been the parent she'd adored and having her all to herself was never something a younger Sydney had minded. "On nice afternoons we'd sit at the piano. Sometimes I'd just watch her play. Not that my father cared that much about classical music, but it gave me something to tell him," she explained. When mom had died it was a tradition she'd carried on faithfully every evening and weekend. Usually she played until her fingers ached or her nanny insisted it was time to stop. "Plus I read the Los Angeles Times. I think I started reading it when I was six," she mused. "I always wanted to know something he did."

"Did it work?"

Sydney grinned, "I think he used to humor me." It was hard to imagine the man Jack had built himself up to be in the CIA as someone who would humor anyone, but he'd never really been a bad parent. Not even after her mother died. He'd still humor her. His lack of skills as a father came not because he was abusive or treated her poorly but because he'd kept a distance to the point of being nearly nonexistent in his own daughter's life.

"You're close to your mother?"

"I was when I was younger," she agreed. "I'm not sure I'm really close to anyone anymore," Sydney realized.

"You will be," Vaughn promised, his voice low and certain. Her only reply was a silent smile, deciding against mentioning that he was likely the person she was closest to, and had been for awhile in her memories.

"It's weird. I'm happy for Will and Francie, really happy," she insisted as he nodded, his expression leaving no doubt that he believed her. "I'm the third wheel now though. I don't even mind that so much . . . I know I'm not even the third wheel, but seeing them together is hard. Hell, even seeing my parent's together is hard . . . ", she realized painfully as she slowed her skating, studying the ice.

Sydney felt him coming closer before his shadow lapsed over hers on the ice. "Hey," he said quietly, drawing her eyes back to hers. Throughout her life she always prided herself for never fully falling into a trap of self pity, but around him her emotions tumbled out with alarming ease - they always had. Instinctively her eyes slid shut as his lips joined hers, soft but not tentative. Neither of them had ever really commanded their kisses, instead sharing in their union and this was no different. They slowly pulled away as their kisses grew softer and shorter before his eyes looked down at her with a look so familiar that her gut ached. Although his fingers were cold from the ice his touch was still enough to send her skin on fire as he lazily ran the back of his hand lightly up and down her cheek. "You're not alone Syd."

A wide smile lit up her face as she brought her free hand up to cradle the side of his face, guiding him back to her for another kiss. "I know."

Vaughn rested his forehead against hers, their breath mingling as they enjoyed the moment, her hand still resting on his face while his palm rested comfortably at the back of her neck. "I hate to say this," he spoke reluctantly as they pulled apart.

"We should go," she agreed, hating it as much as he did. "I need to be up early tomorrow," she realized. Sydney's hand stayed in his as they began to skate off the ice and he looked back at her in confusion. "Will and I are going jogging together. Francie may come, but I doubt it. Any time before eight is too early for her most mornings."

His only response was a laugh as he led her out of the chilly rink.

"So this guy wants to know why I won't put him through to my editor, and the more I try to explain that I wrote the article, the less he seems to get it," Will's voice carried on as their feet systematically hit the pavement. The sun was still low in the sky the next morning as the two friends traveled their familiar path. "Finally he hung up on me, although I think he was muttering in Spanish how rude I was," he mused as Sydney laughed. "So where were you last night? Francie was making this new recipe and I tried to call you like three times, but all I got was the machine."

She glanced over at him, "I was with Vaughn. Didn't Francie tell you?"

"No," he shook his head. "You guys went out again?"

"Yeah. He is teaching me how to play hockey," she grinned. After they'd left the rink the previous night they'd stopped for Chinese before they arrived back at her place. As much as Sydney knew she needed to get up earlier to meet Will to jog she'd found herself insisting he come in. They sat in her living room for nearly two hours, eating Chinese and going between ESPN and CNN. By the time Vaughn had finally left, after kissing her goodbye, Sydney had only been able to grab a handful of hours of sleep before meting Will. Not that she minded - she'd deal with being sleep deprived to have the extra time with Vaughn.

"You really like him?"

Briefly Sydney wondered if he realized how much of an understatement "really like" could be, but it suited perhaps the most basic of her emotions. "Yes, I do."

"Good," he nodded as she glanced at him. Rarely was Will ever so quick to take to any potential love interests. Even though he was now with Francie and clearly in love with her, it was unusual for him to accept it so quickly. "I know how you felt about Danny. I guess I'm just glad you've found something outside of work to keep you busy. Especially since you haven't been back very long."

The sound of Sydney's feet pounding the pavement died as she stopped and looked at him. "Vaughn isn't a replacement for Danny."

"I didn't think he was."

"I'm not trying to replace anyone, and I know I'm not entirely past everything that happened to me."

"I'm sorry Syd, I know everything that's happened has really sucked. I just don't want you hurt," Will explained sincerely.

"Vaughn's helping me."

"I know," he nodded as they began to move again. "I am happy for you Syd. It's not like you to get so interested in a guy unless there's potential. It's even less likely you'd tell Francie and I and have us meet him unless you were really serious."

"It hasn't been that long Will," she commented, a hint of an edge to her voice. The ease at which she could have slipped back into what she had with Vaughn was tempting but she respected that he too was moving on. What she had with Vaughn was something real, even if it took a little exta time for it to develop. As much as she loathed the power that Sloane had exerted over her life by sending her there, she fell asleep every night silently grateful to have Vaughn.

Will scrutinized her for a moment before relenting with a shrug, "Okay."

"You and Francie are pretty serious though," Sydney tossed back as his skin visibley burned.

"I've brought up marriage . . . she wants to, I know, but after the fiasco with Charlie she's pretty cautious. Not that she ever married him, but she got burned."

"She did," Sydney sighed. For a moment she'd almost forgotten about Charlie, had somehow assumed in this life Francie had fared better.

"I'm ready though," he confided. "As soon as Francie's ready, so am I. Which is a bit scary," Will realized with a half smile.

"Yeah," Sydney chuckled, "It is, but it's a nice scary."

"So now I wait," he shrugged. "I don't mind. There's no one else I want to be with," he admitted. She smiled at the sincerity of his words and at the good fortune they had of finally seeing what was apparently lying dormant for nearly a decade. "I do think it's great that you're moving on Syd. I tried to imagine what I would do if I thought I'd lost Francie or if I'd woken up and found out Francie was married and two years had passed . . . I don't know what I'd do exactly, but I definitely wouldn't have the grace you've had."

"Danny and I weren't happy," she looked back at him. "Towards the end, before things . . . ended . . ." she searched for the words to explain the situation without lying. "I loved him and he loved me, but we weren't happy. We wanted two entirely different things . . . We were going to break up."

Will looked out at the pavement in front of him for a long moment before back at his best friend. "Francie and I thought you two were having problems. We didn't want to say anything - we thought you'd tell us if we needed too," he shrugged. "We could tell you weren't as happy as you used to be, but still it has to be hard seeing him married. That's all I meant. I'm happy you are seeing someone new." 

"Do you believe in soul mates?"

"I guess," he shrugged. "I mean I like to think there's one person out there who you're meant to be with, but I don't think that means you can't be happy with someone else. I mean I think you're going to be fine without Danny, Syd," he smiled at her soothingly.

Sydney looked at him briefly and smiled, wondering how her best friend could so clearly miss the point once in awhile. Before she could respond the beeper she'd absently hooked to her jogging pants began to beep. Both of them stopped as she examined the number and sighed, "It's work."

"Don't you still have a few hours before you have to go in?" he looked at his watch.

"It must be important," she explained.

"Rosie the Riveter's got nothing on you Syd," Will grinned as she smiled back. "I guess this means no coffee?"

"No coffee," she confirmed. "I'll probably be going out of town for a few days," she realized as they turn around and began to jog in the direction of her apartment.

"You'll call when you get home? You have to try Francie's new recipe, it's to die for," he insisted as she smiled.

"As soon as I get back. Although I think I might have to have dinner with my parents first."

"Your mom's been calling?"

"Leaving messages," she nodded. "At work my dad doesn't like to say anything, but I've been busy, so I haven't called her back."

"You've been avoiding her."

"A little bit," Sydney confirmed. "I know she just wants to help, but . . . it's complicated."

"Yeah, my parents were like that too after I disappeared for two years too," he commented flippantly. Sydney looked over at him and couldn't help laughing as they finished their jog back to her place and his car.

Given the urgent nature of the page Sydney found herself entering the JTF in an outfit she'd hastily thrown on when she returned home, happy just to see that it matched. No one she recognized was in the ops center as she quickly walked through, making her way to the busy conference room.

"Good," Kendall turned from his projector to see her silently sit next to Vaughn. "Now that your here we can begin," he explained. He impatiently pressed a button as a picture of an aged man with round glasses and a receding hairline appeared on the screen. "This is Hans Goetten," he explained as Sydney heard an undistinguishable sound come from Marshall. "Would you like to tell everyone who Mr. Goetten is Marshall?" he questioned in annoyance.

"No sir, I just didn't realize Goetten was alive. See, it was widely believed that he'd been killed - "

"Marshall," Jack growled.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Mr. Goetten is believed to have designed half a dozen new bioweapons. According to intel he plans on meeting with a Covenant operative tomorrow night. The Covenant is very interested in Mr. Goetten's work and is willing to pay him a hefty sum for the blueprints," he explained. "Sydney you're on point, Vaughn you're on ops," he explained as he slid two folders over to them. "Your mission is to break into Goetten's room before his meeting with the Covenant and swap his disk with ours," he explained, sliding a floppy across the table, "You leave in two hours," he explained as the group disbanded. With only a quick glance in Vaughn's direction she left to go study her dossier and prepare for the persona that the mission required.

Sydney thought it was perhaps the best proof that justice failed to exist when some of the most evil men in the world spent their days relaxing in the very cradle of luxury. Goetten was no different and was staying at a mountain resort in Cape Town, South Africa. The flight was uneventful as they spent their time covering the case file and going over possible alternative plans and strategies if anything went wrong. They'd always been able to keep their personal life out of their professional identities with relative success and when they were done covering the mission she fell asleep as he sat across from her reading a book.

The mission was important but relatively easy - a break in and grab was nothing she wasn't used to. Marshall had done some research into the resort's security features and prepped her before she left. The CIA was uncertain of which alias Goetten was using in his current travels and so Sydney was going to have to grab his attention, get him to take her back to his room, and then sedate him while she got the disk and switched them. All the while Vaughn would be listening on wiretap, in case the plan went wrong. Marshall had also wired Vaughn with a video link, so they could both follow while Sydney swapped the disks.

These were the type of missions she always remembered Vaughn loathing more than the others, when she had to use her body to get the upper hand. For her it was unfortunate and often uncomfortable side effect of the job, but Vaughn was no more comfortable with the assignment than he'd ever been. Despite his discomfort he continued to admire her ability to work effectively despite her own discomfort. It was an ability that lay at the heart of every successful field operative -an ability that Vaughn knew he had yet to fully master.

It didn't take much for Sydney to get his attention in the resort dining room, and it only took an impressive combination of English and Goetten's original dialect in German for him to invite her back to his room for a drink. From there things unfolded remarkably well. Sydney only needed a few minutes before Goetten was unconscious on his bed as she rummaged through the room. The scientist's apparent obsession with neatness worked in Sydney's favor as she easily discovered the disk and switched it, slipping out of his room and out of the resort before Goetten ever woke up.

It was a Monday when they arrived back in Los Angeles, the long flights and the faded adrenaline from the mission leaving both Vaughn and Sydney exhausted. Their entire weekend had been wiped out by the mission, hardly a rare occurrence, but still a bit annoying no matter how long you were in public service. They entered the Joint Task Force early Monday morning to debrief the rest of the team before Kendall gave them the rest of the day off to recuperate.

That evening Vaughn sat on Sydney's sofa watching the end of the Kings hockey game. He'd arrived at her place in the late afternoon after both had spent a lot of the day around their own homes. Sydney had called Will and Francie, leaving messages before she unpacked and took a nap. When Vaughn had called a few hours after lunch time and asked if she wanted to come over and watch the afternoon game with him, she'd instead invited him over and offered to make him dinner if he agreed to pick up candy for the trick-or-treaters she'd all but forgot were coming that evening.

There were more knocks on her door than she'd expected. It was her first Halloween in the apartment building and many of the children were young, dressed as angels and wizards and pumpkins. Around seven both the game and the wave of the youngest trick-or-treaters seemed to be ending as they sat at her kitchen table trying a pasta and vegetable recipe Francie had given her. They ate, discussing the mundane things like the day's hockey game and the children who'd been over to ask for candy. Neither could believe the pace at which October passed, although Sydney reasoned it was because she'd spent the last four weeks trying to get reaccustomed to her life. On one hand it seemed like she'd been in this life for far longer, but it also felt like just yesterday that she'd been talking to Vaughn about Santa Barbara and discovering Allison Doren's secret.

She'd moved on and done remarkably well for herself in the past month. Perhaps most importantly however was the man who shared dinner and helped her watch dishes, unable to help himself as he put soap suds on her nose and then kissed her, unable to stop the amused smile that crossed his face. They finished the dishes and watched the SportsCenter highlights from the hockey game before she walked him to the door, kissing him goodnight before going to the window, watching him pull out of the parking lot before going to bed.

The next few days went well. Jack left the country the next evening for a meeting in Geneva as Marshall remained busy with the disk they'd swapped in Cape Town. The same evening of her father's trip Sydney sat in the rink until her fingers went numb watching Vaughn and the rest of his friends and teammates practice for the upcoming weekend's game. Afterwards they sat in an otherwise empty deli eating a late dinner. He listened as she told him about the book currently resting on her bedside table. He listened to her account of the novel and her opinions on it and then sparred back with his own thoughts. She listened attentively, amazed at how much she continued to enjoy their constant give and take.

Sydney arrived home relatively early the next day, tired from a long but relatively benign day at the office. There had been no backlash from the Covenant but movement was expected soon. Marshall was staying late at work most nights to analyze what they found in Cape Town. She suspected Carrie, whose company Sydney liked but whom she rarely saw, enjoyed the time away from her sweet but often overwhelming husband. Everyone else was in a holding pattern as they waited for news on the Covenant and for Jack to return from his trip. The trip wasn't a mission but a meeting with other operatives from international intelligence to help coordinate each agency's role in taking down the Covenant.

She heard the phone ringing as she quickly unlocked her front door and ran into the house. It was the first night she'd spent away from Vaughn or her friends in awhile and she wondered who would be calling. Earlier in the day she'd left a message at Will and Francie's apartment and she'd managed to snag a kiss from Vaughn before she left the JTF. He was spending the evening at his apartment, a place he'd neglected in recent weeks. As he'd joked with Sydney before she got into her car to leave, there were life forms growing in his refrigerator that no one else should ever have to see.

"Hello?" she picked up the receiver seconds before it clicked over to the machine. Her instincts had taken over and she'd moved so swiftly that Sydney failed to check the caller ID.

"Sydney. Is this a bad time?"

She sighed and sank onto her sofa, "Mom," she spoke the word and let it echo over in her head for a moment. This relationship, a relationship that was so tentative in her old life seemed even more awkward now as she grasped her way through most conversations. This woman loved her, just as Irina Derevko had in her own unique way, but the ease at which Laura Bristow was used to operating around her only child was foreign to Sydney. "No, this isn't a bad time. I just got in. How are you?"

"Fine. Your father's meeting is going well. I'm sure you know that already, but he just called. He's hoping to be home tomorrow."

"Good. We're eager to see how the meeting went. I'm sure you must miss him," she replied.

"It never gets easier, having him gone for days at a time. I appreciate some of the time on my own, and I know he's safe now, but I worry. Just like I worry about you."

"I've been fine," she promised.

"I've missed seeing you. I'm happy you answered. I realize work is keeping you busy. Your father's very proud of the work you've been doing. I am too."

Sydney couldn't help but smile into the phone, "Thank you."

"Then the mission went as well as your father said it did?"

"It was relatively easy," she assured her.

"I'd love to hear about it. I know there are things you can't mention, but if you'd like to talk . . . It's been so long since I've been able to listen to you talk about your what's going on in your life," Laura said softly. "You could come over for dinner when your father returns, we'll make an evening out of it. We can invite Will and Francie it you'd like," she said, her voice quickly turning upbeat.

"I thought about inviting Vaughn," she slipped out easily, perhaps too easily. It had been an idea she'd only briefly played around with in her mind and suddenly telling her mother about it didn't seem like the best course of action.

"Michael Vaughn?"

"Yes."

"You've been seeing him for a little while now, haven't you?"

"We're friends," Sydney admitted. Boyfriend seemed too childish a term, and while she certainly felt significant other had the right emotional punch, he might not feel the same after their brief history.

"We'd love to have Michael over for dinner, if you'd like to invite him," Laura assured her.

"You don't think it's too soon?"

"We know the man already Sydney, or at least the boy he used to be," her mother reminded. "We've known his parents casually for as long as I can remember. Ultimately, however, the only one who can judge if it'd be right for him to have dinner with us is the two of you."

"I'll talk to him," she sighed.

"We'll plan for Friday? Your father should be home and settled by then. Unless something comes up with work," she added.

Her mother's tone made it clear that Friday was less of a suggestion and more of an order. It was the same voice that used to prompt her into the house after a long day of playing in the backyard. Momentarily Sydney wondered what that tone had made her do as a teenager. "Friday," she confirmed.

"We'll see you then. Have a good week sweetheart."

Sydney smiled, "Thanks mom," she spoke and rested the receiver back on the hook. She got comfortable on the sofa and wondered how she would approach something that had never been a problem in her recent memory. Jack had met Danny a handful of times but his opinion held little weight with her then, and the Vaughn she remembered had met her father when they busted her out of federal custody. By the time she was dating him her father's opinion had held slight weight and while Jack hadn't been thrilled he'd voiced no objections either.

This was different now though. Her mother wasn't the woman who single-handedly marred Michael Vaughn's childhood and this Michael Vaughn wasn't a man she'd slowly fallen in love with over two years. He was still getting over his wife, and Sydney fully suspected she was the first woman he'd been interested in since he lost Lauren. This new existence may have made their relationship seem so much easier on the surface but she was already discovering even the smoothest of courses didn't come without their snags. All Sydney could do was wonder how to approach him on it and hope that she hadn't made a fatal error in their blossoming relationship.


End file.
